Bone and Skin
by hasitsclaws
Summary: When the earth stopped believing in the Gods, they vanished. Reincarnated throughout the centuries, Hades has waited for Persephone, but this time something larger than Winter threatens to tear them apart. The Titans are rising again, and war is on the horizon. Will the tragic lovers be able to survive the coming battle, along with the other fallen Gods? Only the Fates may see...
1. The Fates

Title: Bone and Skin

Rating: T; later to be rated M due to violence, language and adult content

Another take on the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone, with a few spins here and there. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"_We revel in skeletons / find the clean lines / sensuous and economical. / The dead sing us songs / I'm learning to answer._

_I'm learning new words / like pomegranate— a word you spit out, / the snick of seeds / against your teeth._"

- Relearning the Dark, Nan Fry

* * *

There was a heavy silence in the room, sun creeping through the windows as dawn loomed on the horizon. Fire crackled in the hearth, jumping and dancing at will. It was a familiar sound, something of comfort if there was such a thing for the man sitting behind the ornate desk in the room.

Dark eyes downcast on the papers in front of him, he sighed, fingers drumming against the desktop in restless hymns played no more. Sometimes he did this out of simple and personally annoying habit– he hated ostensibly acknowledging the old world, how it had crumbled and taken the light away with it. Though his family was often pleased with modern society, they, unlike him, all looked forlornly to the days when they were Gods, when the mortals graced their temples and bowed at their feet.

The only thing he was forlorn over was _her_. At least, this is what the past inside of him said. So many centuries had passed since their paths last crossed that he often wondered if there ever had been such a thing as love between them after all. When he was young, new and old to the world alike, he had stolen her out of selfish need, a craving for life. She'd refuted him, cried for the surface and her mother, a helpless child. Until one day, she was a child no more, sprawled naked in his bed, ruby red juice on her lips, a queen with an iron will to fit. Then again, the stubbornness had always been there…

Sighing, he flipped through a few more pages– pages addressed to Logan Fairgrave, even though the name at the heading of the ledgers was much different. The letter was nothing but meaningless words from his younger brother. '_Some Gods seek to bring the demons from their keep._' It was the same story every millennia, and Logan didn't count upon the prophecy being fulfilled, even if Apollo himself had said that this time it was likely to come true.

Logan Fairgrave didn't much trust in prophets anymore; didn't much trust in anything that wasn't sleep and false memory.

With a scowl, he picked up a glass from the edge of the desk, amber liquid sloshing in it, burning at the back of his throat as he swallowed it in one go, standing from the desk and grabbing his suit coat off of the back of the desk chair. He was to have a meeting with his 'siblings' soon, to talk of news and festivities. His scowl deepened with the thought– _festivities_. That had never been something of a sort of appeal for Logan. He preferred solitude.

_The living are so much more ignorant than the dead._

As he stepped out of the office, he was met instantly by the shadow of a young man, hair combed neat and suit pressed to perfection. "My Lord," said the young man, bowing his head respectfully. "Your siblings are awaiting you in the meeting hall."

"Thank you, Chad," Logan said, striding through the well-known halls of the home that he'd had in his name for centuries.

Chad nodded with a small, "Of course Mr. Fairgrave," as he kept pace with his employer. In the young man's pocket were a handful of coins, jingling with each step he took. Logan looked at him and raised a brow, making Chad glance away sheepishly. "I wasn't against them paying me for passage."

Logan chuckled, though it held no real amusement. "Old habits die hard, eh?"

Chad laughed too, wiping his sweating palms against one another in nervous tick. "I still crave the river's voyage."

"As do I," said Logan somberly, stopping in front of an ornate pair of double doors. "As do I…"

He opened the doors with a wave of his hand, walked with an air of rule. At the head of the table his youngest brother sat, gold eyes glinting in the early morning light. Logan had never held any true disdain that his brother had gotten the throne, though by birthright it was truly Logan's alone. No, he was content with the lot he had drawn, content with the solitude. But today he was a bit pissed that his chair had been taken.

"Hades!" his little brother called with enthusiasm, making Logan grit his teeth. How many times had he asked not to be called that name anymore? _Too many._ "Marvelous spread you have here." His youngest brother's hands gestured to the exotic foods spread upon the table, while his gaze traveled to the young servant girls posted throughout the room, attending to the men's other siblings with care.

Logan rolled his eyes, sat down on his youngest brother's left side, shared an even glance with his second youngest brother across from him. "John, Edgar," he acknowledged them.

"Come now, Hades!" said John, the youngest brother at the head of the table. "We are in safe presence; call us by our true names, I insist!"

Logan grimaced, but an order from the King of the Gods could not be refuted. "Zeus, Poseidon," Logan said begrudgingly, and then looked to the many servants frolicking about, pinching the bridge of his nose in growing aggravation. There was a harsh edge to his voice as he said, "Leave us now, please," simply wanting privacy so this meeting could hurry on and be done with.

The servants all bowed their heads respectfully and left, closing the doors behind them.

"Come now, Hades," said a round, beautiful matron from his left. "You must be gentler with the dears!"

"I said '_please_'," Logan grumbled, but went unheard.

"Oh Hestia," said a leaner, fiercer looking redheaded woman sitting across from the one who'd chastised him. "They are but servants. Simple nymphs."

"Ah, but you forget their worth, my dear wife," Zeus said, running a hand through his short beard humorously. "They worship us and we come into power once more, just like the mortals."

"Who wants power?" said a tired and worn looking brunette from next to Hestia. "It is but a game of the mind. I simply want my daughter."

Logan looked down at the table then, didn't say anything in parry. He knew his sister, Demeter, still hated him with enough ferocity to match that of the depths of Tartarus for taking her daughter away in the beginning. Though this time, it truly wasn't he who'd stolen her, but time itself.

"What have you gathered us here for, my husband?" Hera suddenly asked, distilling the silence. She flipped a lock of red hair over her tanned shoulder, mauve eyes on everyone.

Zeus frowned, glanced to Poseidon who was too busy playing with the water in the glass before him to notice the call for help. With a harsh breath, Zeus began in saying, "I am afraid, my dear siblings, we have not come here for the usual merriment we regularly discuss…" He let his words trail off, expression gone somber. Logan bristled in his chair at this. "As everyone is well aware of, those who wish to bring back our ancestors have risen once more."

"They 'rise' all the time," Demeter said dryly. "They've never gotten anywhere with this before, except back in the times of old."

"It has been a thousand years, dear Demeter," said Zeus, steepling his hands atop the table. "With each cycle we become stronger, and I believe the time is at hand that they may be able to access Tartarus and break free."

"Do you question the bonds I have put there, brother?" Logan challenged, dark eyes narrowing in sudden contempt.

"I didn't before and look what happened," countered Zeus, stomping on Logan's pride as he always had. "The bloody monsters escaped and nearly killed us all!"

"But no one believes in them anymore," said Hestia, quick to placate the situation, even if it would be in vain. "They shall have no power…"

"No one believes in us anymore either," Poseidon countered, bowed lips pursing, "yet here we are, all alive, all wealthy, all respected. The myths that have come about have given us enough revere throughout the years to be able to make all of this happen. Gods only know how soon it shall be before we return to Olympus."

"You silly man!" Demeter said, looking almost insulted. "Do you honestly believe we shall ever be allowed to return there? It is in ruins from the first time the Titans tore us down!"

"Well my seas are still here!" Poseidon yelled pettily.

"Sister, brother, calm your selves." Zeus waited until the two were level before continuing. "We know not how many people are in this league of the Titans' followers, but we do know some of its members."

Logan raised a brow suspiciously. "Since when?"

Zeus was quite at the question, very slow in answering, as if lost in thought. "_Since when_, Zeus?" asked Logan with impatience. "What aren't you telling us?

Zeus sighed, brought forth a crumpled piece of paper from inside his expensive suit jacket. Once thrown in view, Logan could clearly see it was a picture. Two young girls, one old crone. "We have found the Fates once again."

Everyone at the table was silent.

The Fates had been thought to be lost to time as well, just as Demeter's daughter had, and Ares, and Pathos and Enyo… Many other Gods had been missing for some time now too– Dionysus for three centuries, Hermes for six. Hera had stumbled upon Morpheus for the first time in the last cycle, but he was not here now. Neither was Hephaestus nor Aphrodite, Nike, Pallas … Only recently had Artemis and Athena ran across a young Eirene, Goddess of Peace. It'd taken Logan years to find his siblings, and even longer still to find Thanatos, God of Death.

"And just what did the Fates say?" It was Demeter who asked the question, eyes sparkling in concern. Logan very good and well knew she wanted news of her daughter.

Zeus looked at his siblings, one to the next with a calculated expression. "There shall be a war, this time."

Logan blinked, hands fisted together beneath the table. _War_. It left a fowler taste in his mouth than '_festivities_'. "You said you knew some of whom are on the Titans' side– what are they planning?"

"They are breaking the devils from their bonds with every opportunity they get," said Zeus evasively. "Over the centuries, the more we have been, the more power we acquire; we all know that. There are few who have been in life as much as we, but they _have been_."

"Who?" asked Demeter.

"Nemesis," said Zeus with disdain. "Anteros, Erobos, Hypnos…"

"And they are to rise against us?" Logan asked, cold eyes shining in the morning dawn. This all sounded ridiculous, but he more than anyone knew better than to test the word of the Fates. "A war; a war for what?"

"For _power_," said Zeus, expression livid with greed. "They have found a way to take it from us, from the earth. If they acquire it, they shall rule Olympus, the Titans shall rise, and the world shall fall."

"How are we to fight back?"

Zeus clucked his tongue, looked at the picture of the Fates. "All I know so far is that we must find the others. _All_ Gods have been reborn into this cycle."

There was a shocked murmur throughout the room, and then Demeter cried, "_My daughter_?!"

"She is on earth," said Zeus. "As is Apollo, Ganymede, Eris…all of them."

"And why must we find their innocent souls?" Hestia asked, seeming more a fretted mother than ever. "Why involve the young ones in battle? You know what it is like, brother, to be young and ignorant to who you once were. Why curse them with this?"

"_Curse_?" Zeus boomed, static crackling like lightning in the air. "This, my dear sister, is a _gift_. And besides, we are stronger together, something we all know to be true. The more of us there are, the easier it is to maintain our abilities. Especially with our children at our sides, who hold our essences in their very souls. And if, _if_ the battle is won, then we need as many Gods as possible to once again ascend to Olympus."

"How do you know we can go back?" asked Poseidon, seeming overly excited and dreadfully young.

"If the Titans can rule, then obviously so can we," Zeus answered with an arrogant finality, collecting the photo of the Fates from off the table. While Logan was glad that his youngest brother seemed finished with this meeting, his skin still itched with unanswered questions. Where had Zeus gotten hold of the Fates after all this time? Was this war truly to be, or just an idle threat like all the others? Was _she_ truly reborn? "Rest assured brothers and sisters, we are working quickly to find the others. Our workers are scouring the globe as we speak. And I am sure the Fates have a few tricks still left up their sleeves."

"My daughter…?" asked Demeter softly, eyes wide as pastures, the color of curling wheat.

"We are searching."

Logan swallowed something akin to ache in the back of his throat then, standing up from the table as Zeus had. Everyone slowly exchanged formalities, conceded to meet again in a month's time to figure out their plans, once more information was known. Zeus would further consult the Fates (though truthfully he should have let Logan as they once lived in his domain and were therefore his jurisdiction when not stupidly overruled) and find out more of this whole matter, if possible. While the Fates may have clearly been swayed to the Olympians' side in this life, they could not reveal anything too intimate with the future; bonds as old as creation would not allow them.

"Until then," Zeus said, shaking Logan's hand with a smirk, "I urge you to make sure you have no vulnerable spots; no loose ends." The man's golden gaze to somewhere distant in the house, and they both knew of who Zeus was talking. "Make sure the boy doesn't do something stupid."

"Of course," Logan said.

"We shall figure this cursed situation out, dear siblings," called Zeus, all of his malice gone and replaced with quiet reassurance. The King of the Gods always had worn many masks. "Whatever this was may be, we shall figure it out…"

Everyone left after that, Logan's home emptying of all the Deities that did not permanently reside there. Just as he was about to go back to his office, pour himself another drink and sulk, a tall, exotic complexioned woman approached him. She wore fine purple silk and many golden bracelets, her tanned skin sparkling in the sunlight of the entry foyer.

"My Lord," she said, bowing.

"Hecate," Logan greeted, looking at her dark green eyes with respectful fondness. (_He knew green eyes once long ago._) "…They have told me that…_she_'s alive. Is it true?" He knew that Hecate hadn't had to sit in upon the meeting to hear every word said, nor make him wait for the answer to his question; she was strongest of them all and her magic was something Logan had learned not to query long ago when he was still just a boy.

"Indeed, my Lord. Her aura calls to the world– she is coming into her powers; she must be grown and strong. I am surprised you have not felt her for yourself."

This information shocked Logan more than any of the meeting's conversation had.

"How long have you known?" he asked, hands fisting at his sides in misgiving. "Why keep this from me, if you knew before today she is alive?"

"I was not sure at first," Hecate admitted, stepping back from his anger with defense, expression narrowed. "It seemed so much like her, yet I've thought I have felt her in other lives too. But in confirmation from your meeting, I believe this feeling to be right."

"Can we find her?" Logan asked, ire draining to be replaced with sudden anticipation. What Zeus had said was true– Gods _are_ stronger together. The divinity they had left from when they were immortal fed off of each other's like a growing parasite. With _her_ by his side, he would be nearly unstoppable. Long ago, when he'd been young and love-struck like a pup, he'd given part of himself to her and she must have still held it, for he felt weak even in his prime. If he were to be able to use her to his advantage, then… "Before Demeter?" Logan added as his thoughts caught up with him, knowing he'd never get near the girl if his overprotective nut of a sister had a hold of her first.

Hecate, with little enquiry, closed her eyes, breathed in the crisp air of the house, let it go. There was a bit of a smoky glow around her suddenly, as there always was when her divinity was afoot. It was stronger this life than the last. Finally Hecate's eyes reopened, the smoke dripping into their irises. "There is a spell I may be able to craft… The Fates shall figure it out eventually themselves, but if I were to start right away, we could get to her before Demeter. _But_, if we find her my Lord, what do you intend to do?"

Logan thought about it for a moment, nerves drawn tight, and it was then he noticed the bowl of fruit on one of the entry foyer's many stone tables. The crimson staining the porcelain. He picked the morsel up in his hand, studied it.

There was a reason pomegranates were his favorite.

"I do what I did last time, only now, the ending shall be different." He tossed the fruit in the air, Hecate wide-eyed as it careened towards the ground. Her lithe hands caught it just as Logan began to saunter away. "Be sure to hurry, Hecate. We wouldn't want to lose her before the Summer's out, it'll be too cold." He laughed as he walked up the steps, dusky aura of the many Shades that still followed him trailing behind in his abrupt dark delight.

"No my Lord," said Hecate quietly, the pomegranate like blood in her hands. "We wouldn't want to lose her; not again."


	2. The Voice of Three

_Where are you, little one?_

She didn't know where she was and she didn't know _who_ she was, either. Her hands gripped at rough earth, shards of glass scraping her palms. The smell of rust, of blood. A strangled noise escaped her, body collapsing back to the ground as she tried to lift herself up. Was she dead? Where was she? _Who_ was she?

When she called for help, her voice broken. It hadn't been used in thousands of years, how could she possibly scream the way she wanted to? Somewhere in the distance, she heard a river running, the sound so eerily familiar her body ached all the more. If only she could make it to the river, the ferry at its bank. It meant refuge, it meant help, it meant _knowing_.

_Where are you, little one?_

The woman's voice was warm, soft, feral. Shaking, she huddled farther into the earth, trying to hide in the shadows of the rocks. She did not know this woman, and yet she did. This woman meant fear, she meant salvation. She did not like the idea of salvation, even if _knowing_ was something that came with it. She didn't want to take that ferry _towards_ the woman, but rather _away_.

She wanted the sun, not the dark.

Grabbing at the floor before her, she began to crawl, dragging what felt like broken limbs towards the only source of light she could find, even if it was the light of fire. _Do not find me_, she thought helplessly. _Do not find me…_

_Little one…?_

_No,_ she whispered. _No…_

* * *

"Violet!"

"_No_!" She shot up in bed, smacking the hands away from her shoulders, gasping for air. In tizzy, she clutched the necklace around her throat for salvation.

Blue eyes looked at her widely, a young face and worry. "Violet?" he asked.

"Oh, Danny," Violet whispered, reaching out to smooth his honeyed hair from him forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"Another nightmare?" the young boy asked, helping her stand on shaky feet, head in the direction of the bathroom across the hall. Her bedroom spun around her, the yellow walls too bright in the morning sun. The rocking chair in the corner was swaying in the wind from her open window, _creak_ing loudly– God that hurt her head.

The nightmares had been happening for nearly a week straight now, each morning making the physical toll worse and worse.

She nodded in answer to her younger brother, Danny, biting her lip. "It hurt more, this time." Violet wasn't ignorant to lucid dreams– she'd had them all her life. But these dreams were…_different_. Where all the others had felt like memories, sick sense of dejá vu, these were more _now_ than past. It felt as if she were in the moment, no longer looking back.

Danny helped her sit down on the edge of the chipped porcelain bathtub. The tiled floor was also chipped, as was the sink. The toilet handle was broken, much like the stove's handles downstairs. There were cracks in the plaster walls here and there throughout the home, water stains on the ceilings. Their modest Boston townhouse wasn't in shambles, but it certainly needed repairs. Ones they couldn't afford between doctors' bills and student loans payments and groceries.

Violet flicked on the faucet to the tub with a sigh, water rushing out as the pipes groaned in protest from the ancient heater in the basement. She knew from experience it took a good five minutes for the water to warm before she could turn the showerhead on.

"You want some aspirin, carrot top?" Danny asked, already moving to the medicine cabinet above the sink.

Violet stuck her tongue out at him for the nickname, but accepted the pills all the same. When she had been younger, before puberty, her hair had been a wild red. Over the years it had faded to a soft strawberry blonde, yet Danny still insisted on calling her by the nickname their father had given her so long ago.

"Study your chemistry yet?" she asked, swallowing the aspirin dry, hoping they'd quickly cure the insetting headache from the nightmare.

Danny grimaced. "Uh…yeah."

"Nice try," she grinned, turning the shower on with the flip of a stopper. "Go get some breakfast and _study_."

"But it isn't _fair_!" Danny moaned. "This is devil worship, having school in the _summer_ of all times."

"Should have thought of that before you failed the course, Danny," Violet said, making a soft _tsk_ing sound as she let her hair loose from the bun she'd tied it into before going to bed last night. Thick curls bounced around her shoulders, down her back. "Besides, you're not the only one with summer classes in the house, remember? Now go, study before you have to take the class a third time."

"Should I wake up Mom?" Danny asked. The siblings glanced down the hall in unison at that, hearing the soft sounds of their mother's snoring. Violet imagined drool on her mother's pillows, knowing she'd have to wash the cases for a second time this week. "Violet?"

She shook her head, staved the impending resentment off. "It was a Tuesday last night…she won't be in a good mood."

Their father had died on a Tuesday. And though the incident had happened nearly eight years ago, their mother still hadn't gotten over it. She nursed her broken heart with a bottle at first, sobbed the rest of her life away and barely took care of her own kids. Except for those rare days when she was _Mom_ again, and Danny fell for the loving bit right away. Violet was more guarded to it by now; though she knew her mother was sincere on those days, she also knew the depression was just waiting around the corner.

It'd been slow to take at first, their mother trying her hardest to support two children on her own. But by the time Violet was fifteen, Danny ten, their mother had all but given up. She had lost her job and lived off children's aid and the small amount of life insurance their father had left and his military bonds, but it wasn't enough. Not when Violet and Danny were growing out of their clothes every other month, always hungry because of it. Violet had supported them since then, bringing in extra money to pay excess pills, like groceries and clothes and medical for Danny's continuing asthma problems…

With another _tsk_ of the tongue, she shooed Danny away on a promise to quiz him before they left the house for the day. Locked the door behind him and stripped off her sweaty pajamas, fingers her necklace softly, trying to calm herself down with the thought of Grams and all the pretty roses in her garden...

The shower water was lukewarm at best, making her exhale shakily as she reached a hand out against the wall. Ugly red lines stared back at her.

Violet wasn't one to express her fears, her anxieties. There was something inside of her that had always said to hold them in, that it was wrong to let them out just like the rest of her was wrong. Didn't fit. Nearly twenty-one years of pent-up emotions had caused her to wage war on herself. She slipped her fingers across the gouges on her ribs, the insides of her thighs. Disgusted was too light a word for how she felt about herself. Things were never enough, she wasn't enough. She wasn't _her_. She didn't know who she was…

_Where are you little one?_

Her head reeled, flashes of a dark cave and lips the color of blood. She gagged, a sweet taste in the back of her throat. Dry-heaving wasn't unknown to her– it was something akin to her self-induced harm, but today it was different. She coughed, what felt like blood in her mouth but it was tart and sour. She spit into the tub, and there was nothing.

_Persephone…_

Staggering, she slunk down against the wall, vision tunneling. "Shit," she cursed, grabbing at the porcelain sides around her, trying to keep straight. Memories flashed before her, but they couldn't be memories. It was a life she never lived. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.)

"What…"

Someone grabbed her hand, a phantom of lips on her knuckles. _Persephone…_ Her head shook violently, fingers running through the damp curls of her hair, wiping off the kiss. Maybe it was some kind of madness from sleep deprivation. When having lucid dreams the body never really achieved REM, so it only made sense that she'd be a bit whacko, even more so than usual anyway.

Running a hand over her face, she finished washing herself and shut off the shower, stepping out and grabbing a towel from the wrack to wrap it around herself. She staggered to the mirror, wiping away the steam. Leaf green eyes stared back at her, freckles spattered across her nose. She blinked– the girl in the mirror had no life to her. Pale skin, chapped lips, shapeless limbs to a torn-apart body.

Violet grimaced, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. Put on some makeup, walked back to her room to change into a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, an oversized jacket. She'd long ago learned that people didn't take too kindly to the scars on her arms. It was like being an addict, needle marks replaced with razor blades. She didn't even know why she did it in the first place, never really felt much pain– high tolerance– but God the blood, the red of it like something she'd known so long ago, tart and damning…

It was supposed to be hot today, the news calling for a heat wave the rest of the week. Violet looked at the pots placed throughout her room, flowers and plants of various shades. For a moment she wondered if they'd be safe in a house with no air conditioning, and then she gasped with realization. _Oh_, she frowned, tiptoeing over to her windowsill. Outside was a small flowerbox her father had attached to the window when she was young, filled with larkspur and daffodils and wild mint leaves.

She ran her fingers over the soft plants, stems seeming to perk up at her touch. To say she had a green thumb was an understatement, one thing Violet had always liked about herself. For a moment she just continued to touch the plants, and then ducked back into her bedroom and grabbed one of the many half-drank water bottles from around her bed, pouring it over the flowerbox with a sigh. They needed shade, not water.

Violet really hoped they wouldn't die before she got home that night.

Quietly, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. Danny was sitting at the table, a bowl of fruity pebbles and a cup of orange juice in front of him. "You want me to make you some eggs or something?" Violet asked, grabbing a Greek yogurt from the fridge. Fruity of course– the regular stuff tasted like curdled milk if you asked her.

"Nah," Danny said. She gave him a look. "If you're worried about my protein consumption I've already had some peanut butter toast."

Violet shook her head, grabbing a packet of oatmeal from the cupboard and mixing it into the yogurt. She took a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and smashed it in too, for good measure. In a way she envied her little brother, who could eat whatever he wanted and not gain an ounce. That wasn't the case for Violet, who'd tortured her body in cycles of bad habit since puberty. Maybe she was destined to be round– and it wasn't like body type bothered her in the end of it– but more than anything she just wanted to disappear, crawl out of her own skin because nothing felt _right_ at all.

Sighing, she checked on the herbs in the kitchen windowsill, running her fingers over them. The rosemary was her favorite, scent cloaking the room as she touched it.

A loud whistling startled her, the family's old cat Galinthias jumping onto the counter with a thudded _mrow_. "Heated up the kettle for you," Danny said, as Violet took the tea pot off the stove and filled a mug with hot water. She twiddled with the broken stove handles to turn it off; added in a packet of chai tea and a bit of milk. Galinthias whined, the damn cat always trying to get at anything with lactose in it.

"Thanks," Violet said, taking tiny bites out of her breakfast. "So, you know the difference between covalent and ionic?"

"Ionic is sharing and covalent is transfer?" Danny asked, slurping the leftover milk from his cereal noisily.

"Switch them," Violet said, covering half of her breakfast with aluminum foil when she noticed what time it was. They were going to be late if they didn't leave now, and she wouldn't have Danny earning anymore tardies on his resume, especially not in summer school. "Covalent has _co_ in it, which means sharing, okay? Like codependent, y'know? The atoms _share_ electrons– they're _co_dependent on each other, _co_valent."

She grabbed her backpack from the living room, and Danny grabbed his from by the front door. Galinthias whined and Violet reached down to scratch her behind the ears. "Guard the house, cat," she said, stuffing on her battered docs.

She and Danny headed out, locking the door behind them as Violet explained, "Ionic bonds transfer electrons, like _I_– they only want the electrons for themselves."

"Okay," said Danny, blinking as the neurons in his head tried to connect all of Violet's lecturing together. The two of them turned the corner onto one of the busier streets of middle Boston. The bus stop was only half a block in front of them, so their pace was leisurely since the MBTA wasn't there yet. "But what about organic bonding?"

Violet laughed. "You're on your own there, buddy. When I took chemistry organic was for the advanced kids."

"Says miss honor student," Danny said, sticking his tongue out at her as they reached the bus stop.

"Got your inhaler?" Violet asked, forgoing his childishness.

"Yeah," said Danny, sitting down on the bus stop's bench, Violet quick to join him.

"_Good_." She fished through her bag for a couple of crumpled bills as the MBTA pulled around the corner. "Lunch money," she said, handing it to Danny. His classes– chemistry and the mandatory health class he'd skipped last semester in favor of woodshop– lasted from eight in the morning to one in the afternoon, and afterwards he and his friends usually went to a gas station nearby and bought lunch to eat at the park. Violet always made sure he had enough to get what he wanted. "At least get a sandwich with the Hoho's today, okay?"

"You know I hate it when you read my receipts," Danny sighed, taking the money from her.

"And you know I hate it when you come home with a dying sugar buzz."

Danny made a snippy remark, trying to mock her voice. Violet was about to playfully shove him when suddenly the splitting headache from the shower came back. She grabbed her head, vision swimming. If she hadn't already been sitting, she may have fallen.

"Violet?"

Rationally, she knew it was Danny saying her name, but it wasn't him she was seeing anymore.

_What's happening to me?_

The world buzzed, and suddenly she saw flames, blue and licking at her feet. _Tartarus_. But she wasn't meant for here. She turned, long hair flowing against her shoulders as she looked at the towering castle in the distance. It was made from ebony, from broken souls. She wasn't meant for there, either. At least, not in her opinion.

_Little one, where are you?_

Violet convulsed on the bus bench, Danny grabbing at her, calling out for help. Onlookers stared, the bus pulling up in front of them, doors opening. "She okay?" the driver asked, aging face pulled into a worried frown.

"I don't know!" Danny said, shaking his sister desperately. "Violet, snap out of it!"

She felt as if she wasn't whole, as if this realm had torn her to shreds. _Persephone…_ She backed away from the blue flames of the river, towards the castle, the river with the ferryman who could take her back. Her chiton wrapped around her sweating skin, hot and strangling. She wanted to go _home_.

_He_ wanted to make her forget such a place.

_Little one, where are you…?_

She stumbled over the jagged ground, cuts in the souls of her feet, blood of fruit staining her lips. _Hades_, she whispered, closing her eyes against the onslaught of memory.

"Hades…" she mumbled, Danny's eyebrows pulling together in concern.

"V_iol_et," he begged. It had only been a few seconds since the bus had pulled up, but he felt as if his sister was lost in eternity.

_Little one?_

She turned, face to face with a feral beauty like nothing she had ever seen, someone she had looked at a million times before. The woman's features were exotic, dark hair twirling around her in waves, eyes glowing silver-green in the flame's light. She spoke with the voice of three, with magic and familiarity.

_There you are_, she smiled, reaching out to touch. _Oh, thank the Gods; finally you are back, my Queen_.

Hands brushed her flesh, skimming to her heart. The woman smiled again, giving her a soft shove…

Violet gasped for air, leaning heavily against Danny and coughing. Her heart felt as if it had stuttered to new life.

It took her a moment to realize she was still at the bus stop, people staring. "Miss?" asked the bus driver. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Violet shook her head rapidly, grabbing at Danny's shirt to keep her upright. He was grabbing at her right back, terrified. "No, no," she said, standing on her feet with a shaky wobble. "I– I'm fine."

"Violet," Danny said, tone uncertain.

"C'mon," she said, watching as the small crowd that had formed began to disperse now that there was no calamity to draw their eye. "We're gonna be late."

Violet dragged Danny onto the bus, taking a seat in the back. The bus driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror; she looked away. "What was that?" Danny asked, and Violet shook him off.

She touched her chest where the woman had shoved her, just below where the charm of her necklace sat, losing breath when she felt the bruises there, looking down to find a formed hand print above her heart which beat in rapid anticipation of the unknown. _Yeah really,_ she thought in awestruck. _What _was_ that?_

* * *

Back in the depths of Logan Fairgrave's house, Hecate wrote the girl's name on the palm of her slashed hand, blood coagulating in the bowl below her. _Violet Porter_. She glanced around the room that served as her private chambers, stones cast in a circle, herbs tied in burning bundles on the altar. There was a pomegranate cut in half there, juice dripping its crimson glowed that smelled of bitter longing and lost love.

Hecate smiled.

How pleased her Lord would be to hear that she had finally found his Queen.


	3. The Betrayer of Light

**a/n:** hey guys, looks like i've got a bit of the writing bug. i just wanted to say thank you for all of your reviews and other feedback, it means a lot.

* * *

"Perseus' mother Danae was locked in a bronze chamber by her father Akrisios, where she was impregnated by Zeus in the form of a golden shower. Akrisios put both mother and child in a chest and set them adrift in the sea, but they washed safely ashore on the island of Seriphos. Later when Perseus was grown, King Polydektes, commanded he bring back the head of Medousa. With the help of the gods, Perseus first obtained an invisible helm, magical sword, and winged sandals. He then stole the single eye of the Graiai, three ancient hags, who told him where to find the Gorgones. The hero approached the sleeping Medousa, and…"

Violet didn't really know why she'd chosen a Greek Mythology class to fill her college history credits. She was only going for four years part-time in hope of a degree in botany, but the basics needed filled too. This class had been one of those whim takers, Violet's best friend, Albany, begging her to tag along. At first Violet had been a little bored with all of the fables– they were too _out there_. But then, one day, everything just sort of _snapped _into place. She had come to love the class over her fourth semester in college, and had even chosen to take a summer course on it to further delve into the interest.

The myth of Perseus was one she'd read on her own countless times; she'd even watched the movie franchise with Sam Worthington as the epic hero. And while the storyline was a bit…incorrect, to say politely, she didn't mind the cast one bit.

Sighing, she doodled a very cartoon looking Medousa in her notebook, making the snakes of her hair smile up from the page. "N_iii_ce."

Violet jumped, glancing over to Albany, who was twirling a strand of wild red hair around her finger. "Thanks," Violet said. The professor was ending the lesson at the front of the room, students packing up as the bell rang. Going to a local community college meant the scheduled summer class times were about the same for everyone, since the student population was so small this time of year.

Grabbing her backpack from the ground, Violet dug out her cellphone. There was an unanswered text in her inbox, from Danny: **Staying the night Lou's don't wait up 4 me!** She frowned, wishing she'd been asked about it ahead of time, but Danny was almost fifteen, and it wasn't Violet's job to coddle him anymore, at least not too much…

"_So_," Albany said as the two friends walked out of the classroom, smacking her gum and swaying her hips a bit too much as a tall, broad-shoulder guy walked past them. He smirked, giving the leggy redhead a wink. Albany did the same right back. The guy was a senior– a history major and the only reason Albany had wanted to take the class in the first place. Violet suppressed an eye roll as Albany turned back to her, grinning. "You think you can stop by the club tonight and do me a favor?"

Violet gave the girl a questioning look. She and Albany had been best friends since they were toddlers, having shared nearly everything together. As the years went by, Albany grew up to be a sexy, fearless girl, where Violet was more faded into the background, emotionally distant. It didn't make sense for the two of them to be friends, but not much made sense in Violet's life anyway, so technicalities aside, the two college sophomores were inseparable, even though Albany often put Violet into situations she really didn't want to be in.

"What's the favor?" asked Violet suspiciously, the summer sun smacking into her as the two walked outside, headed toward the bus stop on the east side of the campus.

Albany bit her bottom lip coyly, fussing to adjust her cleavage in her too-tight floral shirt. "Well, I've got the late shift tonight, and I'm kind of expecting a visit from this guy… He's _so_ gorgeous, better than the history kid! And you should see his car, it's so, gah!"

For a moment, Violet stopped walking and turned to face the redhead, eyebrows raised. "Uh-huh, and this has to do with me _how_?"

"Oh yeah, well, ha, you know how the boss can be," Albany said, smiling nervously. Violet certainly did. Albany worked in one of the night clubs of downtown Boston, run by some nepotism hired sleaze that so happened to like Violet because she was a _challenge_, what with always refusing his date offers and all. "I was hoping," Albany said, "That you could distract him for me, Jason, I mean." Jason was said sleaze of a boss who didn't take no for an answer.

"No way." Violet said, but it was about as effective with Albany as Jason.

"Oh, come on Vi, _please_? You remember that one time when Danny had an asthma attack and I covered for you when we were working at the gas station on Third and Main? Pl_ea_se Vi, come on and return the favor!"

_Goddamn it_. Leave it to Albany to get on Violet's weak side. She hated owing anything to anyone– hating having "deals" so to speak. Albany knew that, and she was using it against her. Violet was simply quiet for a few seconds, trying to think of any excuse to get out of this. But she had nothing, especially considering she couldn't even pull the having to watch over Danny card because he wouldn't be home tonight.

"Fine," Violet finally groaned, resuming her movement to the bus stop. "But just this once, and then we're _even_."

"Oh yay!" Albany clapped, skipping to catch up with her and kiss her cheek. "I'll make it up to you Vi, I promise!"

"No," Violet said. "Then I'd owe you all over again. One favor's enough." Definitely enough when it meant having to interact with a guy, let alone one as arrogant as Jason. Violet wasn't really one for attention from the opposite sex, ever.

"I'm still going to!" Albany said as they reached the bus stop in time for the MBTA to pull up.

Violet tensed a moment, relieved to see it wasn't the driver from the incident earlier this morning. She didn't much feel like having anyone look at her as if she were a loon right now, because that'd probably be the last straw on top of everything that had happened so far in the day.

The two friends boarded the bus with Albany still animatedly talking. "How about we go to the library this weekend– your fav!"

"Okay," Violet said, brushing her hands over her heart. She'd been doing it all morning since the incident, and for a moment she balked. It didn't hurt anymore. When she looked, there weren't even bruises there– had she imagined the whole thing…?

"Violet?"

"Huh?" she asked, looking up into Albany's expectant topaz gaze. "I said, is seven okay for you to swing by?"

"Y-yeah," Violet said, looking down at her chest again. _I could have sworn…_ "Seven's fine."

"_Great_," Albany chirped, reaching over to braid the wavy strands of Violet's hair together. "You know, you need to keep your hair like this for tonight– the Greek look of it suits you."

* * *

Logan glanced up at the knock on his office door, setting the papers in his hand aside. "Come in."

The fire in the hearth crackled as Hecate made her entrance, moving to stand in front of Logan's desk with a smile plastered on her oblong face. "My Lord, I have found her."

"Found who?" asked Logan, leaning back in the chair he occupied, loosening the tie around his neck. It had been a long day, full with forms that needed to be filled from the shipment business he ran, and building contracts that needed to be drawn-up with some very displeased Satyrs who occupied one of his Summer homes, though if you asked Logan it was their fault the damned roof had collapsed, what with trying to turn it into a fucking imitation of the Gardens of Babylon and all…

To top things off, his darling little brother _John_– damn him if he thought Logan would use his real title in private– had called him to say that the Fates had located Eros, one of Logan's _favorite_ people. The little shit had been the one to get him into the whole pomegranate marriage mess in the first place, or so Logan liked to point fingers.

All in all, he was ready to drink a large glass of whisky and go to bed, for a considerable number of weeks.

"Your _Queen_, my Lord," said Hecate, shocking Logan from his tired mood and to full attention. "She is closer than we thought."

"Where?" Logan asked, dark eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair, messy tendrils pushed away from his forehead.

Hecate smiled again, her face aging right before him. Sometimes he didn't know if she were the maiden or the crone– it was kind of a head trip. "Boston, my Lord."

Gods be damned, she had only been four hours away from him this _entire_ time. Something in his stomach clenched, and Logan glanced at the papers on his desk again. "What's her name?"

"Violet," Hecate said. "Violet Porter."

Logan blinked, clenched his hands into fists. "How old is she?"

"She's in her two-hundred and fiftieth moon, my Lord."

"Twenty," Logan said, simple English as he preferred. She'd been twenty when he had first taken her, adding a few centuries. "…What is she like?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he frowned. The intense anticipation swelling in his chest was not something he had expected. It had been _so long_ that he doubted he had any true feelings left for this girl, wondered if it had all been a fluke. After all, he had lived hundreds of lives without her. Things were…_different_ now. He was different– she had to be too.

Since the news that she was back on great Gaia again, Logan had managed to figure out that the only real reason he wanted the girl before Demeter could possess her was so that he could have more power, not for some silly little reason as simple as _love_.

Zeus– _John_ had been highly correct in saying that the Gods were stronger together, especially when allied with someone who had been joined to you in sacred union in the past. John and his wife, Helen, were evidence enough of that. And with a war on the horizon, Logan knew he needed everything he could get in order to send the Titans back to whence they came, and that meant he needed _her_ (_Persephone, Violet_, he mind whispered) in order to amount to full strength.

Laughing, Hecate waved her hand, bringing him back to the present. A tendril of purple smoke curled from it, morphing into a file. She set it on the desk before Logan. Staring at it a moment, he opened the pages carefully. Inside was the girl's birth date, the names of her family members, her medical history and school transcripts.

It seemed like she was just a normal girl, few visits to the hospital, good grades, a steady income from work since she was fifteen. _She always was a determined little thing_, a voice in the back of his head whispered. Shaking it off, Logan continued to flip through the file, finding the death certificate for a Matthew Porter, the girl's father. He'd died nearly eight years ago, leaving a mother and two children, one of them being (_Persephone_) Violet. She had a younger brother too, named Daniel.

"If you wish to see a picture, my Lord–"

"I don't," he said, stomping on the swell in his nerves. This was political, not personal, after all. "How soon until you can bring her here?"

"Well, that is something that shall not be easy, my Lord." Hecate's face shifted back into the maiden, her eyes glowing of stars in the firelight. "You see, she has no idea who she is."

"_What_?"

Hecate stood her ground. Even the shout of Hades did not frighten the ancient Goddess. "She was raised amongst humans, my Lord. It is the case of many of the missing Gods– Eros himself was raised by a single mother in France, frightened out of his mind at this new information of being a _God_."

Logan's nose scrunched in distaste. "Hasn't she witnessed her powers yet? You said she was growing into them."

"That she is," said Hecate. "But she does not know it. The little one has an affinity for flowers, and deals rather absently with death, but she seems to write this off quite easily."

"And how would you know this?" By now, Logan had stood from the office desk, taking the file with him as he began to walk into the hall. Hecate followed, her feet making no noise on the marble floors.

"I saw life through her eyes, my Lord, a side effect of the spell I used to find her… She is a very stubborn girl. It will not be easy to convince her of anything to be true."

"Why don't you just preform another spell then?" Logan asked, rounding the corner of the hall they were in to the grand staircase of the east wing of the house. "Make her remember, as you did with me back during the Crusades?"

He'd been a soldier then, young and ignorant as none of his siblings had found him to fill in the missing blanks yet. With one touch in a dark corner of a slaughtered town, Hecate had made him remember everything he didn't want to. He thinks the bitterness had set in long before that, when he'd lost _her_, but that night as he lay sweating on his sleeping mat with all the vivid memories, he realized just what kind of past he had to fall back on. He didn't want it. That had the life cycle Logan had really began to try to force away his former self.

"I am afraid it is not that simple, my Lord."

"And why is that?" he asked, taking the stairs quickly as he strode toward the offices at the front of the house. He needed to get this to Chad and have him check in on the girl, but Chad's office door was closed, signaling he was out to lunch. Logan growled, moved on to the next best thing, which was Thaddeus's office. He slapped the file on the burly man's desk. "It's not as if we're dealing with the waters of Lethe here, Hecate. I do not seem to recognize the problem."

"It is not that my Lord, but the fact that she truly _is_ so shut off from her memories of the past. I'm afraid it would cause her too much trauma to bring it all to the forefront so suddenly. She is not a child like young Eros, open to the world. She is grown and set in her ideals. We shall have to ease her into it."

"What _are_ you talking about?" the burly man behind the desk, Thaddeus, asked. He stood, cloak dragging against the seat.

"Persephone," said Hecate, making Logan grimace.

"Ahh." Thaddeus's lips stretched into what, from the outside, would seem a sinister smile. "So we've found our little Queen of death at last."

"Yes," Hecate said. "But she does not know what she is, and has no connection to the Goddess in herself whatsoever."

Thaddeus laughed. "So it'll be just as hard to get her to stay this time as the last! This'll be _fun_!"

Logan frowned. He hadn't thought about it that way, but now, thanks to Thaddeus, he did. Memories flashed through his head, claws and teeth. He glanced down at his forearm where the sleeve of the dress shirt he wore was rolled up. The small, pink scar there glared back at him. There had been a point during the struggle of getting her into his chariot before descending to the Underworld that she'd clawed all the way through his skin to near the bone. Normally, Gods could not scar, but it had been another God that had harmed him, one he was so helpless to, so the rules had differed a bit.

Gods, this was going to be complicated.

"Are you _sure_ she is the right one?" Logan asked, drawing his brows together in frustration. "You are not wrong?"

"No," said Hecate. "She is our long lost Queen."

Thaddeus touched the file on his desk, exhaling slowly. "I can feel the death around her. She carries Shades with her just as you, Logan."

There was a pregnant pause in the room. Finally, Logan said, "I want to meet her first." He had to make sure this was the real deal. If he had finally found her at last…then he at least wanted to see her before she began hating him again– to try and woo her to his side of course, not because he didn't want her to hate him; he didn't care. Because really, the hatred was inevitable if her last capture was any indication. It had taken her nearly a century to come to love him back, and there had been days where he still wondered if it was true.

_You ache for her,_ said the voice in the back of his head. _You ache for her love…_ He ignored it, looked to Hecate and said expectantly, "Well?"

"She lives in central Boston," Hecate said. "If memory serves correct, she is to visit a friend of hers at a club tonight. If you were to leave now, you could…run into her, my Lord."

A scowl took over his expression. _Club?_ He was nearly thirty-two years old for Gods' sake. That was ridiculous. Even in his youth he'd hated the noisy places, with the cheap booze and sweaty, drunken crowds. Surely there had to be a better place of meeting. If he recalled correctly, the girl both worked and attended community college– that was enough social exposure he could easily cross her path.

"My Lord," Hecate said, face threatening to turn to that of the crone once more as she met his gaze levelly. "I know how you do hate such places, but we are in a bit of a rush."

"And why is that?" Logan asked, irritated. It was bad enough his memory made him feel things he had hoped not to, but now to have to go to a club? To _Festivities_.

Fuck.

"Since your last meeting, Demeter has been searching for the girl as well, and I fear she is close to finding her… And we have a deadline, for the end of the month, when you are to meet with your siblings. The conference shall take a few days, if not weeks. By then Demeter could have a good hold on our Queen." Hecate held her hand out in front of her, purple smoke swirling to form the hands of a clock, arms ticking around its face. "On the girl's twenty-first birthday, it is more than likely inevitable she shall come fully into her powers, as the rest of us have. Demeter shall only try to repress her to keep her what she thinks is safe, but without direction I fear young Persephone shall be lost, and with war on the horizon…" Smoke danced, the clock faded from view.

Logan sighed, wiping a rough hand down his face agitatedly. He couldn't let that happen– not only would it be an ignorant mistake on Demeter's part and probably get her and her daughter killed, but without the girl's power to aid him, Logan didn't have much hope of battling the Titans. "Well I'm not going to the damned club by myself," he said.

Thaddeus laughed then, giving Logan a clap to the shoulder– Logan practically felt steam come out of his nose. "Of course not, King! That's what nymphs are for! We'll have a grand time!"

"_We_'ll?" Logan asked, repressing striking out at Thaddeus. He was in no such mood to make an event out of this. He simply wanted to meet this girl, get a read on her, see how powerful she could become. _You want to touch her again; you need her_, said the voice, but Logan barely let it register through his agitation at Thaddeus's enthusiasm.

"Why of course!" said Thaddeus. "You didn't think I'd miss out on the fun, did you?"

Rolling his eyes, Logan shoved the burly man off, walking to the door. Hecate moved gracefully, unblocking his way. "I expect to leave in one hour," Logan said, striding down the hall quickly. "And you had better be Gods damned right about this, Hecate! I am not looking forward to the struggle!"

Thaddeus chuckled as Logan's footsteps faded from within hearing range. "Good to see our King's so very excited to get his queen back."

Hecate shook her head, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "He shall not admit the truth to himself. He refuses to believe there is anything left between the two of them– he only seeks her for power, or so he deludes himself into thinking."

"That's ridiculous," Thaddeus said. "When the man found her, he was a completely different person; I'd never seen him so…"

"Happy," Hecate said, causing Thaddeus to nod. "I know. I only wish this could be easy and she would come willingly, but the girl still has the same fire in her as the day she was born in her first life. Her sense of family is equal, if not stronger now and she shall not leave behind her younger brother without a fight."

"We could always bring him along," Thaddeus suggested, voice dropping low. "Maybe it'd look better toward the public anyways– two siblings disappearing from a broken home? Not exactly unheard of."

"If only it were that easy," Hecate said, smiling sadly.

"Is there something you're leaving out here, Hecate?" Thaddeus rubbed a meaty hand against the stubble on his jaw, ashy eyes trained on Hecate, hard and questioning.

The Goddess did not look at him, instead glancing into the hall as a door slammed. It was not Logan coming back this way though, but a young man with dark hair and even darker eyes. He was wearing a plain shirt and jeans, covered in mud. "Hey, Aunt Angie, how's it hangin'?"

Putting on her best smile, Hecate waved to the young man. "Good, Wyatt. We've just received splendid news."

"Yeah?" asked Wyatt, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was a pale kid, sharp features like Logan, but his aura was something completely different. "What's that?"

"We're going to have a guest!" Hecate said. Thaddeus snorted next to her, knowing this "guest" would be a very unwilling one, more than likely. Hecate elbowed him and he grunted, rubbing at the sore spot on his ribs.

"Really," Wyatt said, grinning. "The old man finally lighten up and let one of his siblings stay over?"

"Something like that," Thaddeus said, which cause Hecate to elbow him again. "Aye, knock it off!"

Hecate glared at him. "Not exactly a sibling," she said, turning back to Wyatt. "They're…an old friend."

"Cool," Wyatt said, squinting at her. "When they arriving?"

"_She_ will be arriving pretty soon," Thaddeus said. "Better watch out though, she's a real ringer if memory serves."

"I think I can handle 'er," Wyatt said, breezy manner evident. "I gotta get to the tutor, but you'll fill me in on all the rest later, right Aunt Ang?"

"Of course!" Hecate squeaked, watching as Wyatt walked away, twiddling with her hands.

"Okay," said Thaddeus. "What aren't you saying here?"

Hecate watched Wyatt's retreating back, though her eyes were not truly seeing him, but something much stronger, wiser. "The girl's brother is not human. He is a God."

"No shit," Thaddeus said, smirking. "Which one did poor Seph get sidled with in this life? I'll die if you say Dionysus. She never could stand the drunken little bastard."

"No," Hecate said, turning to look at Thaddeus slowly. "He is not Dionysus, my dear death carrier." She glanced back to where Wyatt had disappeared around the corner, the boy oblivious to the brewing trouble on the horizon, much like Logan, who was stewing in anger and denial upstairs. "Her brother is Erebus, the God of dark."

Thaddeus blinked, following Hecate's gaze to where Wyatt had once been. "The betrayer of light," he said.

"The betrayer of _creation_," Hecate reaffirmed. "The one that killed our Queen in the first place."


	4. The Gods' Thrones

By the time Violet made it home from work, it was already half past five. She'd have to hurry if she wanted to eat and change before heading to the club to meet her imminent horror of a "date" if that even was what this thing was supposed to be called. She didn't really know– just wanted to get it over with so she could come home and probably puke her guts out just because while watching reruns of Golden Girls and eating too much ice-cream.

Sighing, she shucked off her work apron by the front door, stashing it in her back pack for her early shift the next morning. Working as a cashier at K-mart wasn't really a life goal of hers, but it was enough to be able to afford for Danny's ravenous appetite and ever-growing shoe size.

Her jeans were definitely a no-go for clubbing, and she figured Albany would tell her that she needed to wear a dress, something that showed off her legs. Bad idea about that though. Razor tracks probably weren't the most attractive of qualities. Violet frowned, walking into the kitchen and grabbing an apple out of the fridge. The room wasn't disturbed. Cleanliness meant that her mother hadn't gotten up during the day to feed herself. Cringing, Violet realized that she would have to feed her before she left, and put the apple away.

It wasn't that Violet didn't still love her mother anymore, because she did very much; no, it was more so she didn't _know_ her mother anymore. What was once a woman that didn't take bullshit at PTA meetings and used to tuck Violet into bed at night singing lullabies of heroic maidens and cowardly knights, was now a very lost and confused heap of a human being. Violet had once thought her mother beautiful, with honey curls and laugh crinkles around her mouth from years of marital happiness. Now, those curls were matted and the laugh lines were nothing but age, and dead eyes looking at Violet every time she saw her.

It hurt, to realize that you were so minimal to the person that was supposed to love you most, but then again Violet almost understood. If there was such a thing as soul mates, her mother and father had been the epitome of the term. And her mother had tried to keep going, in the beginning, but the loss had affected her more and more throughout the years until she gave up altogether. To Danny, their mother was _Mommy_; to Violet, she was _Stranger I Used to Know_.

Violet shook her head, grabbed a can of soup from the cupboards and poured it into a bowl, heating it in the microwave. She got a glass of orange juice and made some toast too, putting the meal on a tray when she was done. Her mother's room was at the end of the hall on the top floor, eerie quiet when Violet opened the door with a small _hi Mom_ even though it didn't feel very genuine.

The woman lying limply on the bed in the middle of the room said nothing in response to Violet, staring vacantly at the wall. Silence ensued as Violet set the tray on the nightstand, reaching out to brush her mother's matted hair from her face. The woman didn't even look at her. And so Violet was leaving quietly as always, when suddenly the woman shot up from the bed, calling Violet's name urgently.

"Mom?" Violet asked, walking back toward her slowly, as if approaching a deranged animal. The woman's pale eyes were wild; she was sitting straight up, no longer limp, her mussed hair like a crow's nest around her head.

"Not safe!" the woman said, pointing directly at Violet.

Violet opened her mouth to ask what she meant by the comment, but her mother was carrying on, flailing in the sheets. "Not. _Safe_! Coming! _They_'re coming!"

"Mom," Violet said, trying to reach out and calm her. The woman jerked away violently, screeching.

"No!" screamed her mother. "Coming! Not safe! Out! _Out_!"

Petrified, Violet could do nothing but stand there and watch as her mother wailed, throwing herself around in the bed. What was she supposed to do? Call the hospital? That'd just get her mother thrown into a psych unit, as had been suggested many times by psychiatrists overseeing her mother's depression. And Violet couldn't do that to Danny– not when he still loved their mother so much.

Tears stung at the back of her eyes, threatening to spill when suddenly her mother gave one last shout of, "_Not safe_!" and stilled. The room fell silent once more, her mother gazing lazily into space. For a moment, Violet could do nothing but stare at the woman that had taught her how to play soccer in a party dress, and had tried to teach Danny ballet while he was wearing nothing but his underwear and a Superman cape.

Shaking, she moved back to the door, knowing of nothing else to do. She watched as her mother grabbed the comforter from the other side of the bed and curled up with it, whispering nonsense to herself, before shutting the door quietly as she left.

Her limbs felt like jelly as she moved down the hall to the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing cold water on her face. When she looked up into the mirror, her eyes glittered, smudged mascara and unshed tears. She quickly fixed it, adding some light shadow and blush, with lip gloss for extra. It felt outlandish, but she knew she wasn't naturally pretty enough to continue being seductive once Jason thought he had his claws in her. Her hair was left in the braid Albany had put it into that morning, and she walked to her bedroom mutely, ignoring the hollow ache in her chest that called for blood.

It was sickening that her first instinct to resolve conflict was to turn to that, but it was as good as drugs to put her mind in a stupor and make the anxiety from her encounter with her mother go away. But _no_, she had somewhere to be, a favor to return. There wasn't any time for messes, no matter if they would be as sweet as pomegranate seeds.

Fumbling, she quickly changed from her plain jacket, jeans and t-shirt into some frilly tunic Albany had gotten her for Christmas last year. It was all soft and floral, hugging tightly to her plush skin. She slipped on a pair of leggings and a myriad of bracelets where the three-quarter sleeves of the tunic didn't cover her arms. Stuck a flowered clip in her hair for good measure and dug through her closet for a pair of sparkling flats she hadn't worn since her last job interview eight months ago.

After smoothing out the wrinkles in the outfit, she just stood there a minute, feeling out of place and, well, _stupid_. She didn't want to do this. She hated flirting. She pretty much hated _men_. Yes, she was attracted to them, but in a different way than Albany's sexualized manner. Violet hadn't had much male contact besides a few kisses on the playground when she was younger. There was something that innately frightened her about them– she didn't know what. She just didn't…_like it_. A hidden matronly voice in the back of her mind didn't like it.

Sometimes she wondered if she was destined to be a lesbian, or maybe a woman that lived alone with her seventy-two cats approximately.

Frowning, she looked to the clock and realized she was running a tad behind. She quickly went to inspect her flowerbox. The little blooms had bent under the heat, and Violet's heart sank. She reached out, running fingertips along them. It seemed to be enough that they healed up a little. At least there was one highlight to coming home…

Before leaving, she checked on her mother again, finding the woman staring at the wall and singing to herself. Violet bit her bottom lip, closing the door once more and leaving. Galanthias was at the bottom of the steps _mrow_ing at her, making Violet stumble. She cursed, grabbing the carton of milk out of the fridge and pouring some in a bowl. "Damned cat," she said, but pet Galanthias on the head affectionately as she gave her the bowl before grabbing her back pack and slipping out the door.

The bus ride to the club was about thirty minutes, time taken for Violet to call Danny and see what was going on. "Hey, it's me," she said when he answered.

"Hi, Violet."

"How's everything at Lou's?"

"Okay," Danny said, muffled laughter in the background as well as the sound of shooting. "We're playing Call of Duty."

"The one with the zombies?"

"_Nazi_ zombies," Danny said. "I'm pretty sure I passed my Chem test, by the way. Knew everything except the organic shit."

"Organic what?"

"_Stuff_."

"Thank you," Violet said, digging through her back pack until she found a half-drank bottle of water and took a swig from it. "So, guess who I have to interact with tonight?"

"Who?"

"Jason."

"Oh, _that_ tool?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"How'd you get stuck with that?" Danny asked, through what sounded like a mouthful of food. Knowing the kid's ravenous appetite, it more than likely was.

Fiddling tensely with her braid, she said, "It's a long story…"

* * *

By the time she made it to the club, it was packed. She found this strange considering it was only seven at night on a Thursday, but the social aspects of today often confused Violet anyways, so she didn't question it.

The Club's name was Olympus, posted in the middle of a dangerous neighborhood, with a tattoo parlor on its neighboring side. Violet had gotten three tattoos at the place in the last two years, kind of longing to get another one at the moment. She'd rather face a needle stabbing ink into her skin than Jason– but then, she actually _liked_ the feeling of getting tattoos. The stinging burn was a sensation she felt she knew once long ago, but couldn't place it. Something like a cut, the welling of blood, the fire in her nerves…

She didn't have to wait in the club's surmounting line, instead flashing the bouncer a VIP pass Albany had given her when she'd first started working there. Violet was let in with a bit of complaint from those in line behind her, sweating in short skirts and heels. _Ick_, Violet thought, feeling kind of bad; _that has really got to suck._ She wasn't one for heels just as much as she wasn't one for dresses. They weren't comfortable and what was the point of even wearing clothes if you aren't comfortable, she often wondered.

The inside of the club was standard, with a packed dance floor and bar along the northern wall. On the south wall was a varying range of lifted booths, often called the Gods' Thrones, in accompaniment to the club's title. Those booths were already full, the colored lights of the club reflecting off of them at every angle. It made it so that Violet couldn't really see any details of the members in them, but she felt a shiver pass over her spine (_was someone looking at her?_) when she turned away, headed for the bar.

Albany was already there of course, low-cut shirt and pencil skirt wild and free like her red curls. Violet took a seat at the end of the bar, flinging her back pack onto the counter without a care. The loud _plop_ effectively got Albany's attention, who showed Violet a wide smile.

"Didn't think you'd come," Albany squeaked anxiously, pouring Violet a martini glass of vodka. Carding was a system they'd abandoned years ago– one friend wasn't going to tell on another after all.

"Liar," Violet said, reaching out for the glass once Albany had added a bit of pomegranate juice to dull the heat of the alcohol. She was about to take a sip when another shiver rolled down her spine. Instinctively she turned toward the Gods' Thrones, eyes searching, but the lights still made it so she couldn't see anything.

"I know," Albany laughed, drawing Violet's attention back. She seemed fidgety, deeply nervous. "You always keep a deal."

Violet rolled her eyes, downing half the glass. Alcohol didn't really make her nervous; she was probably going to puke it up later so there was no point in worrying. Besides, if it helped her endure the hells of Jason, then she'd drink the whole goddamn bottle if need be. And plus, it made that creepy-crawly feeling in the back of her skull numb. Her eyes shot to the Gods' Thrones again– still nothing.

"So where's this guy of yours?" Violet asked, drinking the rest of the martini in one go. The music in the background was starting to grate at her nerves. Dubstep in a club named after one of the greatest places in mythological history just really didn't seem fitting. Maybe Pop. Pop would be better– oh God, that alcohol was already going straight to her head.

"Oh, yeah," Albany said, laughing tensely as she took out a rag to wipe the bar down. "He's not coming."

"_What_?" Well, at least Violet understood why Albany was so on edge now. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It was last minute," Albany said, holding her hands up defensively. "Happened right before you got here– his wife wanted him home for dinner."

"Albany!" Violet hissed. "Married is not a good route to take."

"They're having problems," Albany said, biting her lower lip and ignoring a customer calling for a barkeep at the other end of the counter.

"Oh Al," Violet said, reaching out to cover her friend's hand with her own. "Sweetie, the last time this happened you got your heart broke." They'd been freshmen in college– Albany had gotten the hots for a guy who worked in the deans' office who'd been on his way to divorce, or so he lied, and it hadn't ended well for the carefree redheaded girl Violet had called her best friend since birth.

"Bah," Albany said. "No one breaks my heart, I break theirs. Besides, it's not like I'm looking for monogamy, just sex." She tried to smirk, but it was more of a grimace.

Violet shared her friend's expression, opening her mouth with hope of comforting words when a loud, brash voice interrupted her. "Hey, Smith, why ain't you tendening to the customers? What do'ya think I pay ya' for, just standing around and looking pretty like some– oh, _hey_ Violet."

Jason was a short guy with a lacking ego to boost. His hair was always messy, eyes always red from too much to drink. He might have been a little attractive, Violet figured, had he not been such a prick.

He'd come around to her side of the bar, trying to be intimidating toward Albany until he saw Violet there and put on all the charm, which wasn't much. He was already eyeing her up and down like a slice of meat, which made her stomach roll, a worse feeling than the one she'd had when walking in.

If she puked now, all it'd be was alcohol and the minimal parts of lunch she'd let herself have. Not enough to make Jason back off, she figured, but enough to make her feel like shit. Not worth it.

"Hi, Jason," Albany said, while Violet remained mute. "I was just headed there." The redhead looked back to Violet, who was giving her a pleading gaze at the thought of being left alone with Jason. "Vi was just about to leave, actually."

"Oh, really?" Jason's hand moved, dropped onto Violet's shoulder and made her tense to the point it hurt. "Sure I can't convince you to stay, buy you a drink?"

Violet couldn't form an answer. She was kind of busy trying not to have a panic attack as Jason's hand slipped down from her shoulder to her chest, making a steady trail. _Just get up and leave_, her mind screamed, but her body froze. "She's gotta go," Albany said.

"Tend to the customers, Smith," Jason said sweetly, though the malice in his voice was evident. "Violet's a big girl, she can speak for herself."

_Um no_, Violet thought to herself meekly. _She can't._

And so Albany stared helplessly at Violet, Violet stared helplessly at Albany. Neither girl could say anything, Albany in fear of losing her job, Violet in fear of…well, just in plain fear. Fate help her, the only thing she thought she could manage was a scream at this point, which was uncalled for considering the situation wasn't exactly dire, even if Jason's hand was dangerously close to her breast.

"There a problem here?"

All three people turned toward the sound of the new voice– a tall man standing directly behind Violet and Jason. The latter immediately removed his hand from off of Violet, who let out a sigh in relief. A look of fear settled over Jason, who stammered out an, "Oh, no, Sir. Violet here was just leaving and I was saying goodbye."

"Goodbye then," the man said. His voice was firm and low, but carried an air of authority no soul would try to defy.

Jason nodded, scurrying off.

Violet simply stared after him a moment, then turned to look at the man who had kept her from getting unwillingly felt up. He was tall, as first glance told, with broad shoulders and a dark look about him. His features were sharp, body strong. And his eyes…an even darker black than his hair.

"Thank you," Violet said, feeling a mix of relief and renewed fear. Butterflies were coiling in her stomach, or maybe better yet _fire_. It felt like she was burning under the man's stare. Like cuts and needles and pomegranates and _blood_.

"Yeah, thanks," Albany chimed in. "The boss can be a real ass sometimes– hard to call him off when he…" She trailed off, looking between the man and Violet. The two were locked in some kind of internal conversation, neither one of them taking their eyes off each other. Well damn. "I'll just go do my job now."

The moment Albany slipped off, Violet felt a little jolt. She looked after her friend alarmingly, feeling completely alone now with this strange man who looked like he had no irises his eyes were so dark. She felt her heart hammering in her chest (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.) and it was as if she couldn't breathe.

"Are you alright?" the man finally asked, looking at the place where Jason's touch had lingered on her skin.

Violet hugged her arms around herself insecurely, glancing down at the floor as a few strands of hair fell out of her braid and onto her face. A rough hand reached out, long fingers swiping the flyaways behind her ear. She shivered, looking up to find the man staring at her with something akin to ache.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, eyes boring into her.

_Little one, we've found you._

Violet balked. "Who– who _are you_?"

The man smirked, dark eyes and leer. "My name is Logan."

* * *

**a/n: **okay, I know it took 5ever for an update; sorry guys but I'm about useless when in a _whiny bitch about life_ mood. anyway, I'm in the midst of planning out the full plot for this series, so things may feel a bit draggy– hence the abrupt ending in this chapter. I'm going to try and get more interaction and more, well, plot going soon. Promise.

also, made a playlist for the story. you can find it on my profile. Merry February.


	5. The Chthonic King

**a/n:** thank you to everyone for your continued support. i'd give you all valentines if that's wasn't kind of stalkerish.

* * *

She stared at him, leaf green eyes wide as her teeth worried at her bottom lip. And Gods, he wasn't supposed to feel this way. His past lives were foggy, but their first meeting was still clear as day in his memory.

Persephone had been on Mount Olympus with Demeter, the little maiden Goddess's first visit. Her mother had been fret to leave Persephone alone in their home of the Eleusinian fields; ideas of suitors come to steal her precious daughter away swimming in the Nature Goddess's head. Hades had never seen his young niece before, as was the case with most of his siblings' children considering he rarely left the Underworld. He had heard of Persephone, of course– Demeter's pride and joy, the Goddess of the Spring. But the true sight of the young immortal was something that had ended up leaving him breathless.

Well, maybe not so much the _sight_ as her _soul_. She was beautiful, in a soft, guiltless way. Not that of the strong looks of Hera, or seduction of Aphrodite. Just a simple kind of beautiful, with bright eyes and soft skin. Truly, he was drawn to her because there was just something so…_innocent_ in her person, so eager of life and adventure.

Hades was ruler of the Dead. He had seen every soul the mind could imagine– he mirrored their charities and sins when they came to beg mercy before him. But Persephone was _different_. She was ethereal beyond the limits of Gods.

He and his siblings had just ended their annual Winter Solstice meeting, the one gathering a year he was allowed to leave his domain to attend. A bit agitated at Zeus's bullheaded rulings, Hades was more than ready to go back to his palace and forget all about Olympus. He was headed to the gates when something small and pliant ran into him, a little _umph_ coming from the creature's mouth.

Looking down, his mind went blank.

Leaf green eyes stared up at him, a small _sorry_ added to their sight. He blinked, once, twice. They were the eyes of his sister, and yet they were diverse eyes entirely. "I really am sorry," the girl said again, pulling away from his grasp. "Sometimes I get so ahead of myself, and I watch not where I am going and I, I…" A blush formed on her cheeks, the color of a poppy's petals. "I am sorry."

"It is alright," he found himself saying, though normally being touched without permission would agitate him, even if it was by accident. "Are you hurt?"

"No," the girl said, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. He found himself wanting to do it for her.

_ What by the Fates…_

He was not a man immune to lust, but never in his existence had such an uncontrolled thought formed in his mind at first sight of a woman. For a moment he thought that little bastard of Aphrodite's, Eros, had shot him with a golden arrow, but there were no wounds to be felt, just the heat radiating from this girl's body and wrapping around his, as if to smother him. Her scent was just as intoxicating– earth and sweat and _pomegranates_.

"What is your name, sweet one?" he asked, staring her down, eyes aglow with curiosity. He felt stiff beneath the golden armor he wore, wanting nothing more for it to have been gone so he could have felt her fully against him when they had first touched.

"Persephone," she said, and then sighed. "But my mother likes to call me Kore."

_Kore_? What in Heavens' kind of name was that?

"Girl?" he laughed, amusement apparent in his expression as his chest rattled in mirth.

Persephone's cheeks heated again, her nose flared. It made him snicker all the more, how she looked like a kitten trying to be a lion. "It is not funny," she said indignantly, almost rude about it.

He stopped laughing. No one was ever rude to the King of the Underworld. They feared him too much for such a display. But this girl did not. She was full out _glaring_ at him, lips curled in dissatisfaction. "Do you know who _I_ am, sweet one?" Maybe she was naïve. He would not put it past Demeter of keeping this little Goddess in the dark.

"_Yes_," Persephone said, insulted that he thought her ignorant. "You are my uncle, Hades. One of the six Olympians. Ruler of death, of riches, of the Underworld. The Chthonic King. Am I missing something, my Lord?"

Well, she wasn't uninformed, he would give her that. But he would not give her the satisfaction of patronizing him. "No," he said slowly. "But if you know who I am, then you should know not to speak to me so rudely," he said, quirking a dark brow at her.

Her eyes squinted, mouth parting, closing, parting again. "What makes you deem yourself of such high regard?"

He was stung at that. True, he was not ruler of the sky and land as Zeus– though it had been a position allotted to Hades by birthright– or of the sea like Poseidon. But he was King of all the souls in existence, once they perished. He had more wealth than any mortal or God could dream of, more power and influence. He had been the one to land the final blow upon his father Kronos, the one to keep him chained away in his cage. Next to Hestia, he was the eldest of the Olympians, the most powerful, the most feared.

But he was not the light; he was the darkness.

"I am sorry I cannot be as mighty and _light_ as your father," he said venomously, an ache in his chest. Irrationally, he wanted her to respect him, to _like_ him, to _want_ him. "I shall leave you be, then."

And he began to stride past her, when suddenly a small hand shot out, fingers gripping around his bare forearm. The touch sent electricity through his veins, and ache to his chest. Their eyes met again, sincerity in Persephone's as she said, "_Wait_. I am, I am sorry. I did not mean it as that– I actually like the dark, it is just, it is…"

"Yes?" he asked, impatience clear on his face. He was not one to stand and be mocked, even if he had laughed at her just moments before.

She sighed, letting go of him and shaking her head. "All of the Gods tell me I should bow to them– that I would be lucky to have a ruler such as themselves. I do not believe it. I do not need a _man_ to tell me how to act. I am myself, not a little doll to be pulled by strings."

Hades blinked again, brows drawing together as he stared down at the girl. She was very small, very fragile. She was young too; her aura showed it– not even a millennium old. And yet she had the brightest spark of fire he had ever seen in any creature that had lived.

She had been rude to him, cruel even, but it was because she was used to be looked down upon, treated as a lesser thing, an ignorant and pretty face only good for breeding. He knew the arrogant ways of the Gods of Olympus– it was one of the reasons he stayed so far away. And this defiant little Goddess of Spring was disgusted by them as much as he was.

"I should not have told you that," she said, taking his silence for scorn. "I know it is not right, but I… I just really am sorry I was so mean. I did not want to hurt your feelings, I just..want to be _free_."

He saw it then, the loneliness and hope of something more he himself had known for too long, mirrored in this child Goddess– no, not a child, a _woman_. A woman who had been kept in the shadows with hope she would not blossom, a bud forever. But Hades himself knew that even the most beautiful of all flowers bloomed in the darkness.

Before he could stop himself, his fingers were beneath her chin, tilting her head so she would look him in the eyes. "_Never_ hold your tongue around me, sweet one. Not me. I want to hear your voice– just as I wish to hear a caged bird sing once released."

Her eyes sparkled, crystal in the light Helios had brought with the dawn. In that moment, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her with him, and neither of them would ever be lonely again. He would give her the world; he would not keep her caged as her mother had. No one deserved to be locked away in the dark for eternity.

He kept his gaze locked with hers, leaning forwards intent to steal her away with one kiss, but the Fates would not have it. "Kore!" called a voice in the distance. "Kore, darling, it is time to leave now!"

Persephone broke away from Hades quickly, looking down in embarrassment. "My mother," she said.

"She would not like you talking to me," he chuckled darkly, watching as Persephone's expression fell.

"No," she said. "She wouldn't…"

"Then until next time, sweet Persephone." He bowed softly, taking her hand in his and leaving a soft kiss on her knuckles.

She swallowed dryly, watching him as he slid away from her, leaving a token in her hand. Slowly, she looked down at the pomegranate with mute fascination. He smiled, long and curling as he faded to the shadows, witnessing Demeter stomp up, eyes aflame.

"Kore, where have you been?"

"The gardens, Mother," Persephone said, still staring at the fruit in her palm.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought Hermes or Apollo had stolen you away and Gods know what they– what is _that_?"

"What is what?"

"_That_," Demeter motioned to the pomegranate disgustedly. "Who gave it to you?"

Persephone looked up at where he stood, almost as if she knew he was still lingering. "No one," she lied. "I found it."

Demeter eyed her daughter with suspicion, then shaking her head, grabbed the young Goddess's arm. "Fine. But it is time to go, come along."

"Yes, Mother," Persephone said. She looked at him the entire time she walked away, until they could see one another no more.

And it was then Hades decided he would have her. Again, he searched himself for one of Eros's arrows, but the damned thing was invisible if there was one. These feelings were, as it seemed, his own. Sighing, he walked quickly back to his chariot, eager to see what the Fates would say of his choice in bride to be…

* * *

"Logan?" the girl asked, testing the sound of his name on her tongue. He was back in the present now, in the nightclub he despised for a girl who was not the same as the one he'd known so long ago. Yes, she looked like she had. Small and soft, with fragile features and eyes the green of Spring. Even if most would find her just moderately attractive in today's standards, she was, to him, beautiful.

But looks were meant to fool– he was not a fool.

He was not Hades either. He had been, once. But that era was gone. Now he was Logan, a combination of the past and present, and this girl was Violet Porter, college student. She was not the Goddess his former self had once loved. She seemed almost too…_broken_.

"Yes," he said, all smiles and charm despite the denial bubbling in his throat. "Is there anything I can get for you? You are a bit pale, sweet one."

* * *

_Sweet one? Had she heard that before? She had. Had she seen this man before? She had. Hadn't she…?_

Violet's head hurt, a combination of vodka and anxiety, nerves making her tongue feel numb. "I– I…"

He was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for an answer he thought she knew.

"I have to use the restroom." Wincing, she quickly ducked past him, slipping through the grinding bodies on the dance floor before he could follow. On the west side of the building there was a single hall, filled with VIP coves, storage and, of course, the bathrooms. She pushed open the door to the ladies' room, gulping in air as she braced herself against the sink's ledge.

It smelled like Pine-Sol, but she would choose that over the heady scent of Olympus any day.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, traitorous thumps at the memory of his– _Logan_'s– proximity. He was so tall, blocking the other patrons of the club from sight so all she could focus on was him. And his eyes were so dark, so haunting that her stomach had coiled with heat. And the way he looked at her, as if he'd been waiting _forever_ to…

The shaking in her hands was unbearable– she'd had enough sense to grab her back pack before abruptly running from him. Looking at it now, hanging loosely from her shoulder, a swell took place in her gut…

The sting and the blood was enough to bring her back to earth. Crimson dripped down her forearms, to her palms before droplets spilled into the sink.

She touched her hand to her mouth, smearing rust on her lower lip in a haze. It was something she did often, lingering heat on her mouth like a kiss of death. _God_, what was wrong with her? There was something oh so wrong about all of this.

With a creek, the bathroom door opened at her side.

Violet's senses started, the high vanished. She turned hurriedly, trying to block herself from view as a drunken girl stumbled in on her dangerous-looking stilettos. The girl laughed at Violet, an airy smile on her lips as she said, "Hi," and ducked into the closest stall. Sounds of vomiting ensued moments after, and had she not been otherwise occupied, Violet would have felt compelled to hold the poor girl's hair back for her, at least to try and bring a little comfort…

But there were bigger things to take care of– stupid mistakes.

She wiped her palms against the edges of themselves, smearing blood along the tops of her wrists. "Damn it," she hissed, reaching forward and waving her hands beneath the faucet until water rushed out, stinging hot. "Damn it, damn it!"

Sighing, she grabbed a few paper towels out of the dispenser and dabbed away the red. Not deep, just surface bled for a moment or two. Her breath came out damply as she exhaled, fog on the mirror. Looking at her reflection was difficult, swollen lips and hazy eyes. As if in sudden delirium she giggled, immediately covered her mouth in seeking silence.

"Get ahold of yourself, Violet," she whispered to her reflection, eyes shimmering under the fluorescents. "It's only blood." _Only blood, ruby red like pomegranates_. She shook her head, smoothed a piece of hair behind her ear and made sure her skin was decent enough to head out… Not bad, if she kept her tunic sleeves at the right angle.

By now, the drunken girl had stopped puking. Violet called out to ask if she was alright, and there was a giggle followed by a burped, "_Super_!"

Shaking her head, Violet headed back into the chaos of Club Olympus. There was a guy by the door to the ladies' room, looking a little buzzed himself. "Did a short brunette just duck in there?"

"Yeah," Violet said, head pounding at the overwhelmingly loud music.

"She okay?"

Violet shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "You should probably get her home."

The guy nodded, looking a bit worried over the girl. "Okay."

Relieved the girl had some source of help, Violet moved back into the center of the club, sucking on her lower lip and tasting copper just to distract herself from the noise and spinning lights. It only worked so well, music digging into her bones and sight spinning from lack of nourishment today. She needed to eat something– _no she didn't_.

She pushed past a few couples on the dance floor, eyes keen on the door, only drifting to check on Albany behind the bar, who was chatting with one of the customers flirtatiously, cleavage shoved into his face. Apparently her friend wasn't going to miss her if she left... Violet rolled her eyes, tried to smile but it wouldn't come, too blocked by her crashed high.

Hugging herself tighter, avoiding more swarming bodies, almost to the door just a couple more steps– _ow_. She'd made the error of bumping into someone, hard chest, at least a head and half taller than her, male. She blinked, looked up in sudden embarrassment and apology, but the words died on her lips. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.) It was him– _Logan_.

Of course.

Up close he looked a little younger than she had originally thought, but definitely still older than her. His lips pulled back at the corners in an amused smirk and she realized that he was gripping her shoulders, holding her steady. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, closed it, blood splattered on her teeth. "Yeah," she said, staring down at her feet.

"You're bleeding," he said softly, and though she shouldn't have been able to hear him over the sound of the music, she did.

Swallowing dryly she looked up at him. She was a terrible liar, so she couldn't tell him it was an accident or anything. Instead, she remained mute.

"Does it hurt," he asked, dropping a hand from one of her shoulders to reach out, level his fingers under her chin.

Shocked, she turned away, blushing like mad. "No." _He needs to stop touching me_, she thought silently, suddenly so hot in the sparse space, bodies grinding all around them. She couldn't breathe and she felt faint.

Her knees buckled a bit.

"Whoa," he said, catching her, holding her up straight. "Come on; sit down with me for a moment."

She opened her mouth to say _no thank you_ but he was already leading her to the Gods' Thrones. At least now she knew why she felt like someone was watching her from them earlier.

He was in one of the higher booths, full view of the club. It was a glass lift, with a long table and vinyl seats. There were a few people there– a tall, burly man and three beautiful women. Violet suddenly felt really self-conscious. All three females rivaled with Albany's beauty, tall and waify with lustrous shades of platinum blonde, chestnut and honey maroon hair. They all gave Violet shining smiles, and the burly man smirked at her, though she couldn't make out the details of his face in the dim light of the club.

"Who've you got there, Logan?" the blonde woman asked, eyeing Violet critically. She cringed inwardly, almost turning into Logan's embrace. _Almost_.

"A friend," Logan said, his voice irritated. "Why don't you all go grab something to drink while I help my friend out– she feels a bit under the weather." Violet wasn't looking at him, but she could hear the tone of authority in Logan's voice, dangerous enough that she herself would've gone with his acquaintances to get a drink had Logan not been gripping onto her waist so securely.

"Sure thing," the burly guy said, voice obscured by the music as he stood. With a gesture, the three women did the same. They left without a word.

As soon as the group was gone, Logan helped her onto the vinyl bench on the other side of the table, being extra careful.

After she was situated, he slid into the seat beside her, giving her enough room to breathe but just. "Here," he said, voice sugar on gravel as he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and leaned toward her, hand near her face. She stared at him mutely; brows quirked as she shied back. "For your lip," he said.

_Oh_, she thought dumbly. (Why hadn't she just wiped it off before leaving the bathroom? _Idiot._) He moved to dab at the blood on her mouth, running the pad of his thumb over her lower lip after he was finished, the last drop of blood staining into his fingerprints. She blushed something vile, looked away. A man had never touched her like that before. "May I have the honor of knowing your name now, sweet one?"

_He speaks real formal_, she thought, staring at him like an airhead. _He looks formal too…_ That he did, very put together with crisp attire and clean skin. Lean and strong, broad shoulders and spindle fingered hands. The gruff shadow around his neck and chin was clean-cut like his raven hair. Maybe he was handsome, she considered, but in a different way– darker, older, not of this time's standards. But she didn't really care about that, didn't really care about appearance at all because that could be deceiving, and the only thing she could truly wonder was _how are his eyes so dark…?_

Someone cleared their throat, and she realized it was him, waiting for her to reply. "What?" she asked, the flush creeping down her neck.

He chuckled and it rang through her skull, making her suppress the urge to shutter. The sound was dark and rough and golden, like his voice. "Your name, sweet one."

_Sweet one_. She wrinkled her nose, didn't like the déjà vu; tried to think of her name but was too foggy in the head. But wait– "It's, it's…_Violet_," she stuttered.

His lips turned up at the edges again. "Violet," he said, but the way he said it was almost unholy. "Do you have a last name?"

"Uh, yeah," she said, fidgeting with her fingers beneath the table. They were shaking, and her palms burned. "Porter," she said. "It's Porter; Violet Porter."

"Suits you," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear like he had at the bar. She flinched. "Is there anything I can get you Violet, to help?"

_Stop looking at me_, she thought, but instead simply shook her head. "I, I think I'm okay now," she said, moving to stand. "I should get going."

He stood with her. "I could accompany you home, if you'd wish." _Accompany me home_, she thought. _Do I want him to?_ "To make sure you make it there safely."

She wanted to let him bring her home– wait, _no_, she didn't. She couldn't. "N-no!" she said almost too quickly, and immediately calmed herself. "No, that's okay. I really am fine. The lights are just a bit disorientating, y'know?" She gave him a nervous smile, waving her hand flippantly toward the dance floor. "Besides, I'm not far from home. It's fine." Lying through her teeth made them hurt a little.

"Are you sure?" he questioned as she moved out of the Gods' Throne, stepping to the edge of the walkway with her, their movements in sync.

If anything this just made her more nervous. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.) "Yes," she said curtly. "Thank you– for helping me I mean, with Jason, and…this."

"Any time," he said, staring at her intently.

She nodded, turned to head down the steps and leave when he called her name softly. Looking back, she noticed that he was leaning on the railing edge, gazing at her with something akin to desperation. "Violet," he said again. "Do you think that we could–"

"Logan!"

Their attention was pulled toward the dance floor below them, the blonde that had been sitting in the booth minutes earlier waving up at him. "Logan!" she laughed, twirling in her shimmering dress. "_Dance with me_!"

Violet took his momentary distraction to move quickly down the stairs, out the front door just as she heard him call her name again.

Once in the crisp air of Summer, she inhaled deeply like she'd been starving for it. Shaking her head a few times, blinking away his gaze. _What the hell was that?_ She knew she was afraid of him, knew there was something off about him, and yet she'd been so completely entranced she'd almost let him come home with her– she wasn't ignorant, she knew his intentions were to do more than just take her there.

"Wake up, Violet," she told herself, and as if the skies were intent to help her, something cold and wet splashed against her cheek. She looked up just as rain began to fall in earnest. "Great," she groaned, hitching her back pack over her head and crossing the street in a sprint, water soaking into her clothes. "Thank you ever so much!" she screamed at the sky, still sprinting. "Such an honor to have the Gods take pity on me!"

She cursed her way to the bus stop, running cut corners trying not to fall again. Her fresh wounds ached, leftover blood washed away in the rain. And her lip tingled from where he'd touched her, skin warm despite the cold.

* * *

He followed her with his eyes as she paused outside a moment, nervous and looking toward the skies as it began to rain– lithe and feral as she ran off into the night, the girl he'd known so many, many lives ago. She was different now, but there were still traces of her past self in everything she did.

_Persephone_, her name like a wound to the head, the heart, a wound to the tongue if he dared speak it, russet red the way her lip had bled. He still remembered the taste of it, having snuck his thumb to his mouth when she hadn't been looking, lapping at the blood. Sweet and ripe, as she'd been before he'd soured her, took away her sunlight and warmth to replace with the shadows of the dead and his selfish longing.

He shook his head– not him, but _Hades_.

But Gods, when was the last time he'd seen her? Really _seen_ her? When he'd still ruled below the surface, when the mortals first began to doubt the Gods' existence. She died in his arms, screaming and bleeding and pleading for her mother, not to let the children in, not to let them see. He saw the youth in her not for the first time then, the innocence he silently stole. And since then he'd lived many lives without her, and he was different, Gods damn it. But the way she had made him feel…

He swallowed dryly, turned back to the dance floor where the Nymph he'd brought as company tonight was waiting expectantly. She smiled seductively at him, but it no longer held the same interest as it had earlier. The only bed he wanted to be in was hers– _Violet_'s. He frowned.

Damn the way she had felt when he'd kept her from falling, soft and delicate, the way she had blushed when he touched her, innocent and naive and the way she smelt, like Spring and smoke. Damn her and the weak feelings she had stirred up inside of him. He only needed her for one thing, and it wasn't fucking _puppy love_.

Blurry images of their last life together invaded his head– her smiling, running her fingers through his hair, lying on his bed, picking flowers, twirling and twirling with wild abandon, biting into the fruit with juice running down her chin, writhing in pleasure and moaning his name… _Hades_, _Hades_, _Hades_.

He shook his head; _that was not his name now_. It was Logan, and hers was Violet. And they were not Gods, and she was not his lover, and he was not hers. And she was so quiet and easy to persuade…and a slow, dark smile crept to his lips, because that was _exactly_ what he'd been looking for.


	6. The Bold Persephone

**a/n:** Hey everyone, I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I've been having a lot of writer's block lately, and also, I got a bit wrapped up in a new Hades/Persephone fic I started. Blehhh. I finally finished a new chapter though, with a new character to boot... Hope you enjoy. Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.

* * *

"Aye, Halefire, you got a visitor."

Michael glanced up from where he was sitting on the cot, hands clenched around one another as he was praying.

The guard behind the prison bars was looking at him expectantly.

Sighing, Michael raised. He was a tall man, easily standing a good height above the guard as the cell's door was opened. It didn't do him much good though– just made it all the easier to be picked out of a lineup. Michael followed the guard quietly down the cellblock. A few prisoners called out here and there, making an ass of themselves because there was nothing better to do in a godforsaken place like this.

Where Michael expected to be lead into the call rooms, instead he was taken to the recreation area used for visitors. It was strange– the only visitor he ever got was his friend Lenny, who, even though they'd been in the same unit together, never went farther than behind the pane of the glass phone booth.

The guard brought Michael over to one of the tables in the dull room and sat him down in front of a short, rounded man who wore an expensive suit and wicked smile.

Michael blinked at the man, whose tie alone probably cost more than Michael made in a year while working for the army. "Who are you? Not my lawyer, that's for sure." No way he could afford some guy like this.

"Now, now Mr. Halefire," said the man in an accent Michael couldn't place. "Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

_Friend? He's no friend of mine…_ Michael simply stared at the man, amber eyes disbelieving. Was this supposed to be a joke? It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to fuck with him. Only though, he figured in this situation he would be stopped before he actually killed the man in front of him.

"I know you don't remember me," the man said. "I'm Dino Bacchus." He held out his hand toward Michael, glittering with ruby rings, but no way was it going to be shaken.

"What do you want?" Michael asked suspiciously. "I don't have any money, so if you're trying to plead a case to be my new lawyer, then sorry, ain't happening."

"Why, no, no, no, Mr. Halefire. A lawyer will no longer be necessary for you."

Frowning, Michael asked, "And why's that?"

Well, wasn't much of a loss to him, really, Michael reasoned with himself. The last lawyer hadn't done much of anything for him. He'd been sentenced to twelve years for voluntary manslaughter, the max for the state. It could've been nine, but the twenty-three year old he'd killed had a rich family with a lot of influence. And Michael was just a poor drunk of a soldier on leave for the year.

Never mind the kid called him a pussy and swore that everyone in the army was a pathetic idiot fighting for nothing while taking the first swing. Nope, didn't matter. All that mattered was that Michael had lost control in his anger and killed the kid. How the fuck was he supposed to know the kid had bad kidneys? He'd punched to stun, not to kill.

But the past was the past and he was trialed and sentenced anyways. He'd been here nearly a year, and after he was out all he had to look forward to was, well, nothing. He didn't have a wife, or kids, or any family still alive. He'd been a soldier. Fighting in the war was his life. But now that was over. With his sentencing he was stripped of all his titles and medals, his military rights revoked.

Besides, by the time he was released he'd be forty-seven. No way could he start over as a soldier from scratch.

"Because, Mr. Halefire," the man, _Dino_, said, snapping him to the present. "I'm here to get you out of this shithole."

"Oh yeah?" Michael laughed sarcastically. "And how you gonna do that?"

Dino leaned forward until he and Michael were eye-to-eye, a slow smile creeping onto the older man's lips. "Let's just say I have my ways, Mr. Halefire. I've managed to get your unfortunate victim's family to drop the charges–" Michael's eyes widened– "but only _if_ you agree to do me a favor."

Ah, of course, a catch.

"And what kind of favor is that?" Michael asked, keeping his voice low so none of the other visiting prisoners or guards could hear.

"A simple one," Dino said, sitting back. "We both have an old acquaintance that my colleagues and I…_require_ something from. And the only way to get to him is through an outside influence. He's a very stubborn man, you see, and the one he person he listens to is his lover. I need for you to _talk_ to her, and help her see reason in convincing him to accept the proposition my acquaintances and I have for offer."

"And what is that proposition?"

Dino smiled, pointing his index finger at Michael in reinstatement. "Oh, you'll find out in due time, Mr. Halefire. First, you must agree to help me."

Michael was quiet a moment, mulling things over in his head. So he had to convince a girl to talk her boyfriend into agreeing to whatever this _proposition_ was, and he was out of here? "And I'd get cleaned of the charges, scot-free?"

"Hmm, yes," Dino said, scratching at his overly tanned face. "Also, you would be highly compensated for your help. While I may not be able to reinstate your title in the military, I _can_ pay you much more than you would have ever earned in that field anyways. Enough to live on happily for the rest of your days."

Clenching his teeth, Michael looked out of the only window in the room. He longed to see the sky beyond the fences of this place. And while he _knew_– God how he knew he would be making a deal with the devil if he agreed to this– what else was he supposed to do? Sit here and rot for the next eleven years and then leave to a life of nothingness?

He was already going to Hell, he figured. He'd killed a kid in cold blood whether it was an accident or not, plus countless others when he was touring in the Middle East. (_Shoot first, guilt later._)No amount of praying for salvation was going to save him. So he may as well go down swinging, right?

And now apparently, filthy rich.

"You got a deal," Michael said, looking back to Dino and sticking out his hand.

Dino smiled, but it was more a lecherous smirk than anything. Grabbing Michael's hand and shaking it, he said, "Trust me, Mr. Halefire, you won't regret it."

* * *

Violet grabbed onto the edge of Danny's jacket, pulling him down in the bus seat. "Ah, come on, Vi," she said. "Didn't you see that girl? She's so pretty!"

"It's not polite to stare, Danny," Violet laughed, fiddling with the end of her braid. "You can go sit next to her, if you want. Maybe ask her out?"

Danny paled noticeably, eyes going wide. "Um…"

Violet laughed again, turning to look out of the window and let Danny be embarrassed in peace. He'd started really noticing girls about a year ago, but he'd never actually _talked_ to one. Not in a setting other than the classroom anyways. Even then he'd admitted it was mainly for group work and not about actual life. Violet knew how he felt, in a way. It was the same for her with boys, and even the females she found attractive in a sexual way.

It was Saturday now, the day she always took off in order for her and Danny to spend time together. Today they'd decided to go to one of the local shopping strips so Danny could buy a new video game. Violet had been saving up for a month in order for him to get it, so she'd be damned if they didn't leave with a brand new copy of Skyrim.

When the bus made it to their stop, both Danny and Violet began walking up the aisle. Not very inconspicuously, Violet shoved Danny toward the girl he'd been admiring. He stumbled onto her, apologizing profusely as Violet chuckled and walked onto the sidewalk. Danny caught up with her quickly, shoving her back and complaining as they moved down the street toward the video game store.

It was halfway there when a small bookshop caught Violet's attention. It was full of used novels, cheap, but they were in good condition. Violet stopped just outside the doorway, appreciating the little place. She'd been longing for something new to read and had about ten dollars to spare for the want.

"I think…" she turned to Danny, digging through her backpack and handing him the money he needed. "I'm gonna go in here for a while. You wanna meet up in an hour, and we can get froyo or something?"

"Sure," Danny said, giving her a knowing smile. "Go get your nerd on."

She rolled her eyes at him, watched as he made his way to the video game store safely before she went inside the bookshop. The bell above the door _ding_ed at her entrance, but there was no one behind the wooden counter. It smelled like old books, the endless shelves making her smile softly. Nothing was clearly marked, so she simply moved to the first aisle, scouring the selections dreamily.

Her fingers moved over spines, eyes scanning titles and authors until she found something that caught her interest. It was a small book, worn leather cover and crisp pages. She opened it, finding poems upon poems scribbled on the pages. Blinking, she read one and then another, sucking her lower lip in between her teeth.

_I'm learning new words / like pomegranate…_

The book had been so engrossing Violet hadn't even heard the front bell chime as a new patron came into the store. They walked up behind her without as much as a hint of notice from the short strawberry-blonde. When a hand touched her shoulder softly, Violet startled. A small yelp escaped her as she turned, arm pulled back and ready to strike.

Dark eyes held hers, stopping any movement she was planning to make. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.)

Logan's lips turned up at the corners, smiling at her. Violet simply stared as she had on Thursday night, dumfounded. It felt like her throat was made of sandpaper and she had no voice while Logan waited for her to say something.

So when she didn't, he said, "Hello."

Violet continued to stare like an idiot, mouth slightly parted. Logan chuckled and nodded to her hand, which was still upraised with the book in it poised like a weapon. "I'm not going to hurt you, Violet. You can put your hand down."

Cheeks flaming, she mumbled a small, "Oh," before letting her arm drop to her side, tucking the book into her hip. "You…you startled me."

"I noticed," he said, studying her for a moment.

She studied him back, noticing he'd traded in the button up from the club for a gray t-shirt; he also wore jeans and a nice pair of shoes– they probably cost more than Violet could make in a year, even with overtime. It made her uncomfortable, suddenly. It wasn't that she had anything against rich people, or that she was jealous– she had everything she needed and could provide for Danny well enough– it was just that she felt a bit…unmeasured. She was simple and he, well, _wasn't_.

And yet he was standing here smiling at her in a used bookshop, so close she could smell his cologne and something else, something dark and smoky that made her shiver. Without thinking about it, she asked him, "Why do you want to talk to me?"

He seemed a bit taken aback by this, giving her a questioning sort of look. "Because I like you," he said, as if it were obvious. "Should there be another reason?"

Instead of answering him she asked, "How old are you?"

"Thirty-one," he said.

"Are you from around here?"

"No. I'm in town for business."

"How long?"

"You ask a lot of questions, for such a tiny thing."

Again, her cheeks flamed. She was being rather intrusive, but she couldn't help herself. She'd always been a curious creature, never knowing when to stop prying. It was one of the faults Danny always called her out on; Albany too. Muttering an apology, she took a step back from him, bringing the book she held up in front of her.

"Um, I should– I need to go…"

Logan titled his head, dark eyes disbelieving. "Would you allow me to take you for coffee first?"

He wanted to take her out for coffee? Wasn't that technically a date? Did she want to do something like that? She hadn't been on a date since she was ten and Aiden Morris asked her to go to the park with him. They'd held hands on the swings and then she'd ended up punching him for saying he thought flowers were stupid.

"Um, okay," she said, not knowing why she said it. "Let me just pay for this first…"

"I'll get it for you," Logan offered, holding out a hand for the book.

She shook her head, walking past him. "No. I'm a big girl. I can pay for myself." Her blatant refusal seemed to momentarily shock him, his eyebrows pulling together as he walked beside her to the counter.

By now, a small old woman was there and she rang Violet up with a smile, wrapping the book in paper and putting it inside a brown bag. "You and your beau have a good day now," the woman said.

"Oh, he's not my–" Violet began, but the woman was already walking away toward the back of the store.

Making a bit of a sour face, Violet walked to the front door, stopping a moment as Logan held it open for her. Usually guys just let the door swing back and hit her, so this was new. She thanked him and walked out onto the street, the summer hear satiating her. It'd gotten hotter while they'd been in the bookstore, and suddenly her jacket made her feel as if she were in an over. The want to take it off was overwhelming, but the marks from the club stifled the urge enough that she simply endured the heat.

"Where's the best place to go around here?" Logan asked, setting a hand on the small of her back as they began to walk down the street.

She went a bit rigid.

"There's a cafe on the corner," she shrugged, trying to shake off his touch. "If that's fine with you?"

"Sure."

Violet bit her lip, clutching her new purchase tightly to her chest. Coffee; they were going to get coffee together. She could do this. She could make small talk with him. He was only in town for business, after all. It wasn't as if she would probably see him again after this anyways.

Her heart still beat quickly in her chest.

* * *

Thaddeus watched quietly as the boss and his long lost love entered the café together. They looked sort of fractured, Violet leaning away from Logan in hesitation. She'd changed since the last life he'd seen her in. She was more timid now, hesitant.

Then again, she had been during the beginning of her stay in the Underworld too. It'd been so long since those days that Thaddeus found it hard to remember anyone but the bold Persephone who ruled the Underworld firm but justly. She'd gotten so good at the job the boss took a lot of days off to spend time with their kids,even. It was a strange sight, to say the least. Ruler of the Underworld having a tea party. The memory never failed to make Thaddeus smile.

Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and lighting it. He'd woken up this morning next to a naked nymph and had wanted to stretch his limbs, so following the boss seemed like a good idea. Now though, he didn't want to intrude on a private affair.

Instead, his eyes traveled to the video game store down the street. Violet's kid brother, Danny– _Erebus, who was this tiny kid Erebus?_– had run into some friends in there who were trying to convince him to go get high with them out back. Thaddeus had rolled his eyes at that– _teenagers_.

Danny didn't seem like he really wanted to, but they were still nagging him about it even as he bought whatever game he'd gone in there for. Eventually the kid said _yes_. Thaddeus was a good lip-reader, so he knew he wasn't mistaken on it.

Well damn.

He hadn't planned on being an asshole today, but it looked like it was time to bring out the authority figure. He threw his cigarette on the ground and walked toward the group of kids leaving the video game story, Danny in toe. Betrayer of light or not, Thaddeus wasn't going to let the Queen's kid little brother be a shithead.

The teens went behind a gaggle of buildings and Thaddeus followed, sighing because he knew this probably wouldn't put him on Violet's good side, when he finally got to talk to her.


	7. The Son of Zeus

**a/n**: hey everyone; i know the update took forever... writer's block kicks my ass sometimes *le sigh*

please don't hesitate to let me know what you think so far. feedback is always great no matter what.

* * *

She licked at her lips to wet them, the inside of her throat feeling groggy from the warming air in the café. It was more a diner than a café really, if the setting indicated anything. But they only served coffee and drinks and pastries and refused to play anything but Indie hipster music, so Violet guessed it was an unwritten rule that you had to call it a café.

Logan was sitting across from her, their booth under modernly dimmed lights, but the window they sat at illuminated everything too much for there to be ambiance. He was just…_staring_ at her, no expression, no hint of emotion in his eyes. Violet's hands were starting to shake a bit; she kept them in her lap so he couldn't see, refusing to look at him.

"What can I get you two?" the waitress said, another reason Violet felt this place was more of a diner than a café, but she wouldn't tell the staff that.

Logan stopped staring at her long enough to look to the waitress and give a small smile. "Violet?" he asked politely, letting her go first. She hated ordering first, so she just held up a finger– _give me a moment_. "I'll just have a coffee, please; black."

The waitress wrote it down, making Violet rush in her decision. Did she want to eat in front of him? _No way._ And she didn't want coffee either; her nervous stomach wouldn't take to it well. "I'll have a pomegranate juice, please," she said, missing Logan's little smirk at the order.

"Comin' right up," snipped the waitress, turning to head back behind the coffee counter.

"So," Violet drawled, wanting to cut his staring in exchange for words. "What kind of business are you in town for?"

"Shipping," Logan said, folding his hands on the table and leaning toward her ever so slightly.

"And what kind of shipping do you do?" asked Violet.

Logan shrugged. "A lot of kinds. Mainly supplies needed at funeral homes."

Blinking, Violet looked down at the table. Well, that was a bit of an unexpected answer. It wasn't often that Violet met people who worked in the death business. "Like coffins?"

"And embalming machines, and other tools needed to prep the bodies," he said, not even bothering to look away from Violet's gaze as the waitress set down their drinks, asking if they needed anything else. "No thank you," Logan said, and Violet shook her head in agreement.

"Where do you, uh, get the supplies?" Violet asked once the waitress had left, taking a sip of her drink nervously. It was tart, staining her tongue red.

Again, Logan shrugged. "I'm in league with a metal factory that makes the tools. The coffins, well, I have employees that make them."

"Do you make them?" she asked, not being able to help herself.

"Yes," Logan said, smirking at her. "Why do you ask, sweet one?"

"Just wondering," she said, moving her glass back and forth nervously in her hands. _He makes coffins; okay._ "Do you like your job?"

"It suits my needs," he said vaguely. "But enough about boring, old me. What about you, Violet? What do you do?"

"Um…nothing special," she said, her cheeks flaming. _Sure as hell nothing like owning a company._

"And that means…?"

"I work at K-mart," she frowned, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "When I'm not there I take a few classes at one of the local campuses."

"What are you majoring in?" Logan asked, taking a swig from his coffee.

"Botany," she said. "Minor in Greek Mythology." Now why did she admit that?

"Greek Mythology," Logan smiled, looking much like a wolf in sheep's clothing. "What got you into that?"

"I don't know," Violet said honestly. "I just…_like_ it."

"And what's your favorite myth, sweet one?"

That was a tough question of him to ask her. There were so many that she loved. The story of Prometheus was one of her favorites, but she also loved the tragedy of Cassandra of Troy. And tales of Artemis the Goddess of the hunt, and Penelope waiting ever faithful for her husband Odysseus to return home. But then she thought about it, and she thought about it, and thought about it a bit more.

"I love the tale where Hercules borrows Cerberus from Hades," she said at last, smiling. "The idea of him walking into the Underworld and just saying 'hey, Uncle Hades, I need to borrow your dog for a while' is very humorous to me."

* * *

Logan simply stared at her, trying not to frown. He remembered that day very well. It wasn't a fond memory, to say the least.

Hercules had come storming into Hades' throne room in all of his heroic glory, smug about the fact he'd tossed Charon into the Styx so he could steal the ferry and come to the palace, barely even kneeling in acknowledgement to Hades before asking for Cerberus as a display of his honor to that drat king, Eurystheus.

Hades had been about to turn Zeus' little brat away when Persephone entered the throne room. It was her third month in the palace after he had stolen her from the surface. She had barely warmed up enough to consent to dinner with Hades, and was often wondering the halls of the palace if he ever called upon her, trying to avoid him as much as possible. That day she had seemed in a better mood than most, looking first at Hades and then at the young hero with his golden skin and curls.

"Your Highness," Hercules said, bowing deeper for her than he had for Hades. This served to agitate the God of the Underworld, but he said nothing about it. "I have come to make a request of your husband–"

"He is not my husband," Persephone said; they were gentle words but had held a steely resolve that made Hades flinch. "But what was your request, young Hercules?"

_Young_, Hades had scoffed. Hercules was older in physical attribute than Persephone, looking nearly thirty in comparison to her meager appearance of nineteen. Though, his bride had a point. She was centuries old at this point, while Hercules had the mere years of a mortal.

"I am in need of Cerberus," Hercules had said, smiling charmingly at Persephone, who smiled back; Hades' blood boiled in jealousy. "It is a part of my trials that I bring him back to the King."

Persephone nodded, looked to Hades and back to Hercules as she'd asked, "And you will make sure Cerberus comes back unharmed, correct?"

"Yes, Highness," Hercules said.

"Good," Persephone answered, and Hades had known he would tell her _yes_ the moment she began to ask, "Lord Hades– please lend the man Cerberus."

"Fine," Hades said, sighing. He couldn't refuse her anything but her wish to leave him. "I expect him back before the night is up, though."

"Thank you, King Hades," Hercules said, bowing once more before he's grinned at Persephone. "And thank you, Queen Persephone."

"I am no queen," Persephone said, holding out her hand. A soft light glowed and a small lily appeared in her palm. "Though I do wish for you to take this to your beloved Megara, hero."

Hercules strode to Persephone arrogantly, taking the flower and kissing the fingers of her upturned hand. "Thank you, Highness."

"On with you," Persephone had said, nodding her head to the door softly. Hercules bowed once more and turned away. "Oh, Hercules," she'd called after him, making the hero turn with a pleasant expression aimed to her. "I very do much like Cerberus. Despite his appearance, he is a gentle beast. If you bring him back in less than the condition you take him in, I will not hold Hades' wrath away."

The hero had paled slightly at Persephone's threat, nodding his acquisition to her words. "Yes, Highness. Of course."

Persephone did not stay long after the hero had left, casting one uncommitted glance to Hades before leaving the throne room. His eyes had followed after her, lips turned into a frown. The more the Goddess spent time in his company, the more a mystery she became to him. He had known her as strong-willed and innocent, but never such a coy temptress she had presented to him over the past months.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the activities he'd been busy with before Hercules had so interrupted, trying not to let thoughts of Persephone distract him.

Logan shook his head, now in the present, memories of a life not his dissipating. Violet was staring at him, waiting for him to speak. "I'm fonder of the myth of Hades and Persephone, myself," he said, smirking at her. "What are your feelings of it?

* * *

Why was he asking her of Greek mythology? No one she had ever met before was interested in the subject were they not part of her class. Even Albany said nothing of the stories when they weren't sitting in the lecture hall. It made Violet curious– why was Logan, of all people, interested in fables? He didn't seem the type to like stories like that; she pinned him more as a fact-based man. Possibly historical fiction, but the line to reality would be thin with the books he read.

Violet shook her head. He had asked her a question, and even if this encounter was strange she shouldn't be rude. "I don't like it much," she said, looking down at the water ring her glass had left against the table. "Taking away someone's freedom isn't right."

When she looked back up at Logan, she was shocked to see him looking angry. "But what if Hades had good intent behind it? What if he loved her?"

"If he really loved her, he would have honored her wishes," Violet said, holding firm to her opinion under Logan's scrutinizing gaze. "Women aren't a possession you can just _take_ because you want them. They're not _dolls_. You can't lock them in up some castle and give them riches and think that makes up for the fact you've stolen them from their freedom. Persephone was the patron Goddess of spring, of _life_. Not of death which was all the Underworld consisted of.

"But what if Hades was lonely?" Logan asked, staring at her with something in his eyes that Violet couldn't understand.

"He could have visited her," Violet said. _Wasn't that obvious?_ "Hades could move between realms when he wanted. Just because he drew the lot of the Underworld didn't mean he wasn't still a God. He had the power to come and go as he pleased. Maybe not on Olympus, but on earth. There were places Demeter's domain didn't touch. He could have asked Persephone to come and see him. He didn't have to _kidnap_ the girl and lock her away like some song bird for his own enjoyment."

Her cheeks had turned red by this point and her blood felt a bit heated. Maybe it was the third wave feminist in her, but the whole _Rape of Persephone_ thing had never settled well in her gut. Even if Persephone had been a man, it still wouldn't. You didn't simply take someone from the life they knew just because you wanted company. That was deranged and wrong– even for a God. No one had the right to take away a creature's free will. _No one_.

For his part, Logan looked a bit surprised. He probably hadn't expected her to be so forward, considering she'd been her usual timid self around him thus far. "You certainly are an opinionated little thing," he finally said, to which Violet shrugged and took another drink from her glass.

"It comes with the independent female territory," she said, once again not meeting his eyes. "I'd like to think free will is something everyone deserves."

If she was looking, she would have seen Logan's eyebrows arch, his dark eyes searching her with a new spark to them. But instead she was distracted by the chime of her phone, reaching into her back pack to dig it out, paling when she saw it was from Danny.

**Where r u?**

It was fifteen minutes past the time she had agreed to meet him.

"_Shit_," Violet hissed, stuffing her phone back in her pack in exchange for a few bills. "I– I have to go," she said, slapping the ones on the table. "I'm sorry."

As she stood, so did Logan. "I can pay for this," he said to her, but Violet shook her head wearily, causing him to frown.

"Big girl, remember," she said, giving him a small smile that didn't touch her eyes. "I really have to go."

"Can I at least get your number?" Logan asked as she hurriedly walking to the door, following after her.

"I– I…" Her phone chimed again and she shook her head. "I have to go."

She pushed out the door before Logan could say anything else to her, rushing down the street toward the video game store. Danny wasn't in sight, which made her panic a bit. _What if he had_– And then she caught glimpse of him standing beneath a streetlight, staring at his phone screen. Rushing up to him, she braced herself against the light's base, gasping. God, she really should have had something besides that half a glass of juice today.

"Sorry!" she said, reaching out to touch Danny's arm softly. "I ran into a…friend."

"You have friends?" Danny asked sarcastically, and then flinched when Violet hit him. "Okay, okay. So you have friends. But hey, you'll never _believe_ what just happened to me!"

"What?" Violet asked, panic rising in her chest anew.

"I was scared to _death_," Danny said to her, not realizing the near truth his words held.

* * *

Logan grit his teeth together, watching as Violet sprinted down the street.

Sighing, he returned to the table and put down the money for his coffee. Violet had left three ones, enough to cover the tip and her drink. This made his frown increase. _Independent woman_, she had said. Her little speech about her distaste for the way Hades had stolen Persephone honestly shocked him. He had figured she would submit to the abduction easily, or maybe not have much comment on it. He definitely did not expect for her to become so heated in her argument against it all.

The spark he had seen in her was something that made him a bit on edge. It looked as if she would not go as willingly with him as he first thought she would. _Gods damn it_.

With a shake of his head, he walked back out onto the street, trying to find her in the dispersed crowd. She hadn't even given him her phone number. How many times could he simply run into the girl before it became too noticeable? Though he had really only planned on taking her on a date once before all of the technicalities could be shed and he would just _take_ her, it was still a bit infuriating she wasn't infatuated with him enough to stop and give him the number.

"Rough date?"

Logan turned with a glare, finding Thaddeus leaning against the side of the café smirking, a lit cigarette between his fingers. "What are you doing here?"

"Relax, your Highness. I was just teaching Queeny's kid brother a lesson about living above the influence."

"_What_?"

Thaddeus shrugged, blowing a ring of smoke toward Logan who simply glared at him for the action. "The little twerp was gonna get high with his friends but I broke it up. Didn't want your wife to have to deal with a pothead."

"She's not my wife," Logan said tersely. "And you shouldn't have done that."

"Why not? Not like she'll recognize me or anything– the kid barely even got a good look at me. Too busy rushing off after I threatened to call the cops on all of 'em."

"It was still ignorant," Logan said, beginning to walk in the direction where he had parked the car he'd driven here in. "I thought you were busy with the Nymph from last night anyways?"

"Needed to stretch my legs," Thaddeus shrugged, keeping stride with him. "Those creatures can be a bit clingy the morning after, y'know?"

"Hm," Logan said, because he did know, but he wasn't going to strike up some pleasant conversation with Thaddeus about it or whatever.

"You know boss, you look kinda tense. Maybe you should ask that blonde Nymph– Laurel I think her name is– to help you relax a bit before your next date."

"There isn't a next date," Logan said, feeling steam rise in his chest. "She had to leave before I had the chance to ask."

"No way!" Thaddeus said. "You mean the little thing resisted your charm? Come on, boss man! I mean we all know you're not the biggest looker or anything, but no woman has refused that charm before! I'm shocked she blew ya off!"

Logan turned to growl at his advisor, the steam from his chest rising into his throat. Though his manipulation over hellfire was minimal, it was still there and he was scarce to control it when angry. "She did _not_ blow me off!"

Thaddeus put his hands up in defense. "Hey! It was a compliment!"

With a deep breath, Logan turned and began walking again, ready to ignore Thaddeus completely as they went back to the car. "Didn't you drive here?" Logan asked as he unlocked the front doors, not wanting to share a ride back to the hotel they were staying in with Thaddeus.

"Nah, I walked."

Rolling his eyes, Logan got into the driver's side as Thaddeus dropped into the passenger's seat. The car was just a simple one, a black Ford Focus that Hecate had insisted Logan buy last spring for _traveling simplistically_, as she put it. And while Logan wasn't really one to flaunt his wealth, he always had some luxury car awaiting him. Except this one. He kind of felt like a soccer dad in this car.

"I hate the stations of today," Thaddeus said, flipping through the radio as Logan pulled the car away from the curb. "I miss the seventies. Now that was good music."

"You'd just been born in the seventies," Logan scowled, trying to remember if he needed to turn left or right at the next stoplight.

"Bah, doesn't mean they didn't have decent music."

Just as he was about ready to tell Thaddeus what an idiot he was, Logan's phone began to ring. He answered it with a gruff, "Hello?" instantly having his mood soured even further when he heard the voice on the other end of the line.

"Brother!" said John, sounding too happy for Logan's liking. "I have news from the Fates!"

For a moment, Logan said nothing. What if they had found Violet, and Fawn– as Demeter was known in this life– was on her way to collect the girl too? "And what news is that?" Logan finally asked, ignoring Thaddeus' curious expression over the conversation.

"It is too much for discussion over the phone, brother."

Throwing his head back against the seat, Logan sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. "Then why the fuck are you calling me?"

"Come now, brother! Do not be that way! I have called to say that our meeting needs to be moved up! Everyone is to meet at my home in Chicago come two days from now for us to debate the matter," said John leisurely.

"Two days?" Logan hissed. There wasn't any kind of way he could make casual contact with Violet in two days, at least not enough that he could get her alone and whisk her away to his estate so they could get this show on the road. "I'm busy."

"You need to cancel whatever plans you have," John said. "This is not up for argument. I expect you here soon." And then John hung up.

Logan clicked the _end_ button and punched his fist into the steering wheel, the car jerking forward with the movement. "Damn it!"

"Whoa," Thaddeus said, staring at his boss in concern. "What wrong?"

Instead of answering his question, Logan swerved violently into the turn lane that led to their hotel. "Our plans have changed," he said after a moment. "We're taking Violet earlier than planned."

"When?" Thaddeus asked, raising a dark brow.

Icily, Logan answered, "Tonight."


	8. The Dark Figure

**a/n**: kiss my ass, writer's block; chapter eight hazzah.

* * *

"_But oh my _god_ Vi, it was the best sex of my life!_"

"You said the same thing about the TA from your lit class last year, Albany," Violet said into the receiver, throwing a bag of popcorn into the microwave and pressing the _start_ switch. "What was so spectacular about this guy?"

"_His tongue_," Albany gushed. Violet could imagine the redhead hanging upside down off the edge of her bed, toes in the air as she let her homemade pedicure of jungle red dry. It was a kind of ceremony Albany did after good sex; it'd been going on since their junior year of high school when Albany got her second boyfriend who she swore was so much better than her first. "_God, Vi, you wouldn't believe the things he can do! He made me cum without even touching my clit, for God's sake!_"

Laughing, Violet grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and Diet Coke from the fridge, setting them on the table as she balanced her cellphone between shoulder and ear. "Does he have a brother?"

"_Oh please; since when do you put-out little miss I've barely even kissed a boy._"

"I was kidding," Violet said, and then sighed softly to herself. Sometimes she wished that she wasn't such a field mouse. Sometimes she wished she had as much fun as Albany did. They were young, and while Albany was experiencing everything life had to offer, Violet was already in the role of a mother. She was caged and often felt very alone. It was tiring, having your childhood stolen but still feeling like a lost little kid at the same time.

"_Sure_," Albany drawled, to which Violet rolled her eyes as the microwave beeped, signaling the popcorn was finished. "_You know, I have this outing tomorrow with my new beau. He's bringing along some friends. You can come, if you want. One of them is bound to be single…_"

Resting against the kitchen counter, Violet thought about Albany's proposition for a moment. She looked at the herbs on the windowsill, their wilting leaves. Reaching out to touch them softly, she reveled in the way their life seemed to thrum against her fingers as they perked up just the slightest. "Okay," Violet finally said to Albany. Why couldn't she live a little? "I'll come."

"_Great_!" Albany squealed. Something crashed in the background and Violet figured that Albany's cat, Buttercup, had knocked something over in his owner's bedroom. "_We're gonna go to a club first; I'll text you the name when I find it. We can meet at my house and I'll help you get ready! A few touches from my skilled hands and you might get lucky, shy girl._"

Snorting, Violet said, "Not likely," as she grabbed the popcorn bag from the microwave.

"_We'll see about that_," Albany said. "_Buttercup! Wait, no, don't eat that– Vi, I have to go. He's trying to eat my Prada!_"

"Oh, the horror," Violet said sarcastically. "Text me later."

"_Definitely! Bye!_"

The other line went quiet and Violet hit the _end_ button of her cell, setting it on the counter as she tried to balance the drinks she'd taken from the fridge and the hot bag of popcorn in her hands. Stumbling, she made it into the living room and set the pile onto the table, next to a bag of gummy worms Danny was absentmindedly chewing on as he set up his character for his latest video game score.

After finding out that he'd nearly gotten high today, Violet was about ready to ground him from the game. But she figured the strange guy who had come up to Danny's little group of pothead friends and scared them off before anything happened was enough of a punishment to Danny. As he'd relayed the story to Violet while they'd gone for ice-cream as she promised, Danny seemed scared straight. It was kind of funny, but Violet would never tell him that.

"Everything going well?"

"Yeah," Danny said, taking the Gatorade Violet had brought out and cracking it open. "Thanks, sis."

"No problem," Violet said.

She began searching through her back pack for the book of poems she had bought today. The smell of it reminded her of the book shop, which in turn reminded her of Logan. A blush rose to her cheeks as she thought about the way she'd just left him sitting there in the café, looking shell-shocked at her little disappearance. He had wanted her _phone number_ after all. Had he wanted to see her again? But why? She'd completely made an ass of herself during the small snippets of conversation she'd had with him. And if he wanted an easy lay or something while he was in town attending to his business, then Violet really wasn't the right girl for that. She was too insecure, untrusting and needy for meaningless sex, period; end of story.

Flipping through a few sparse pages, Violet began reading as Danny played his video game, sipping on Diet Coke and trying not to think about Logan as the words on the pages stored away in her mind. It was only two hours later that she realized her mother hadn't been down at all to get something to eat.

Violet checked the clock– 9:30 at night.

Sighing, Violet rose from where she sat beside Danny, ruffling his hair and nearly killing his character for the antic. She went into the kitchen and fixed her mom a sandwich, adding chips and an apple to the tray. She also poured a glass of milk, so of course Galanthias chose that moment to pop up out of nowhere, _mrow_ing for lactose.

"Silly cat," Violet said, trying to flick the old thing off the counter. "You're not really supposed to have this stuff, you know."

Balancing the tray in hand, Violet took the stairs slowly and followed the hall back to her mom's room. She opened the door, expecting to find her mother on the bed. Instead, the woman was lying beside it, on the floor.

"Mom!" Violet quickly set the tray on the dresser by the door, rushing over to her mother's side and shaking the woman. "Mom, Mom, wake up!"

"Violet?" Her mother rolled onto her side, hair matted to the edge of the woman's face with sweat. For once, her eyes were no longer dead. They were full of fear. "Violet, you have to run."

_This again?_ Violet thought, helping her mother into a sitting position. "No, Mom. You need to get back in bed, okay? How'd you fall? Are you hurt?"

"Violet, they're coming. Run," her mother said again, pushing against Violet's shoulders so she would go toward the door. It was a very abrasive shove, enough that Violet squeaked, sure she'd have a light bruise there in the morning.

"Mom," Violet said, trying to bat the woman's hands away. "Mom, stop. Stop, you're hurting me."

"Get out!" her mother said, and then began to scream. "Get out! Run! Take Danny and run! Run Violet! _Run_!"

There was a _thunk_ downstairs, the sound of a door opening and closing; Galanthias was hissing madly.

"Danny," Violet said. "Danny?!"

There was no answer from downstairs, and Violet looked to her mother who had suddenly grown silent, leaning back against the bed with a vacant look to her eyes.

"_Danny_!" Violet was running before she could stop herself, taking the stairs two at a time until she was in the living room.

And Danny was right there, asleep on the couch.

Sighing in relief, Violet turned to go back and check on her mother, only to find the stairs blocked by an obtusely dark figure. A scream would have been the appropriate thing to do at that moment, but instead all Violet managed was a soft exhale. The figure stepped forwards. The only light in the room came from Danny's game playing on the television, but it was just enough to make out the figure's features.

Male, strong, intimidating. Violet wasn't interested in the age her mind pinned him at, or the stubble on his jaw, or the way he held his hands up in a universal sign of peace motion. The only thing she could register was strange man in her house and her little brother prone on the couch and her crazy mother prone upstairs and her own small self who how could she take on a man three times her size.

"Hey, easy," said the man, his voice calm but Violet was alarmed nonetheless by the deep baritone of it. "I'm not here to hurt you, Violet."

_How does he know my name?_

And that's when Violet screamed. It was loud and long and enough that the man grabbed at his ears, trying to block out the sound. Violet hoped it was enough to wake Danny too, but the boy was still asleep on the couch. How was that possible?

Oh _God_, what if the man had hurt him?

Violet's screams became even more desperate at that, and as the man came forwards trying to grab her, she ducked beneath him to run into the kitchen, desperate for her cell phone to call the police, but the man was right behind her. Violet slid around the kitchen table when he tried to grab her again. It was like cat and mouse, but she was quick because she was small and so she evaded him. It didn't matter that she hadn't had much to eat that day, or that week, it just mattered that there was adrenaline flowing through her veins and there was a strange man in her house and he might have hurt her little brother.

"What'd you do to Danny?" Violet asked, ducking this way and that depending on the direction the man tried to take to get to her around the table.

"Nothing!" the man said. "He'll be fine! He'll wake up in the morning with a bit of a headache, but that's it!"

"Why?" Violet screamed, but the man didn't answer her. He simply ducked around the side of the table and grabbed for her, wrapping his fingers in the fabric of her jacket.

Violet screamed again, reaching back and raking her nails down the man's face. He hissed in pain, and Violet took the chance to slip out of her jacket and dart back toward the living room, determined to get to the street and get this man out of her house and away from Danny while she ran screaming for help since she couldn't reach her cell phone.

He was fast though, grabbing her back by her t-shirt and pulling her toward him. Violet flailed, using her minimal weight to heave herself away, which caused her to land against the stairs as her shirt tore in the man's grip. And he was on her right away, grabbing at her ankles. She could see the blood from the claw marks she'd left on his face dripping down his neck– she used to wound as a target to kick.

The man nearly shouted on the impact, and Violet quickly scrambled up the stairs away from him. Her mother had the only landline in the house tucked away in her room. "Mom! Mom _help_! Call nine-one-one! _Mom_!"

She'd almost made it to her mother's room when she was tackled from behind, falling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. Her forehead smacked against the floor _hard_, disorientating her, but not enough she wasn't going to fight anymore. Her scream this time was full of terror as she turned in the man's grasp, clawing at his skin again, kicking and flailing with everything she had. Pulling back, she hooked him with her fist in the side of his neck. It took him off-guard long enough that she was able to punch him again, in the windpipe. He sputtered, rolling off of her and clutching at his throat.

"_Help_!" Violet screamed, scrambling to her feet. Her vision swam from where she'd hit her head, and she fell into the doorframe of her room, stumbling against the nightstand. Galanthias scurried out from under her bed then, running across the hall toward her mother's room. "_Mom_!"

Something hot and wet dripped down into Violet's eyes, marring her vision. She realized it was blood and whined, again moving back to her bedroom's door frame. The man was on his hands and knees now, coughing. Mustering all the strength she could, Violet pulled her leg back and kicked him in the side of the head, years of playing soccer with Danny and her mother making the impact strong.

The man grunted, began to fall back but not before grabbing her foot and dragging Violet with him. She screamed, landing on his chest. The man did nothing further to her though– he was knocked out. She felt as if she'd hit her head again. Her palms were carpet burned from sliding against the floor, bleeding and stinging as she pushed up onto her feet.

Her only thought through the blackness forming around her vision was that she had to get to her mother's room– she had to call the police, call an ambulance. Oh _God_, what if the man had been lying and Danny was hurt? No, _no_, Violet couldn't think like that right now. She had to get help. Catching herself against the walls, Violet made it into her mother's room before she fell onto the carpet.

"Mom," she said groggily. "Mom, help."

"I told you to run," her mother said, still sitting against the bed in the same place Violet had left her in. "They're here. I can't save you."

"Mommy?" Violet asked weakly. Everything sounded blurry to her ears, like she was underwater. The blood from her head was dripping steadily towards her mouth, smelling of copper and rust. Something like sandpaper licked her cheek, Galanthias _mrow_ing as she curled against Violet's limp frame. "Mommy, _please_."

"I'm sorry, Violet." It wasn't her mother that said this, but rather a male's voice. Not the one who'd attacked her, but another one. A familiar one. In her stupor, she couldn't place it. "It wasn't supposed to go like this…"

"Momma," Violet whispered as large hands encircled around her waist, rolling her over so she was facing the new person in the room. She couldn't make out his face, just his eyes. Dark, dark, dark. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.) "Stop…" she said weakly as she was lifted into the air, cradled against the new man's chest. Galanthias hissed, and Violet heard the man curse as the cat dug her claws into him. He kicked her off. "No…don't," Violet groaned.

"Shh," he said, brushing bloodied hair away from her face. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you."

"Mom," Violet said as she began to be carried out of her mother's bedroom. "Save…Danny." And then everything went black.

* * *

Logan sighed, tucking Violet tighter against him.

The plan had simply been that Thaddeus come in here and knock her out and bring her to the car where Logan was waiting outside. But the idiot had been taking too long, so Logan let himself in only to find the carnage trail from the kitchen and up the stairs. He had to admit, the damage Violet had managed to put Thaddeus through was very impressive. The amount it took to knock the brute out was a high one, as Logan personally knew. It was surprising someone as small as Violet could do it.

Logan was both irritated and thankful that Violet had a head wound from the whole ordeal. Irritated, because he was afraid she had a concussion and passing out on him was not good, but also thankful because he didn't have to knock her out himself. Logan didn't hit women; there was no way in hell he ever would unless they were trying to cut his throat or something, and even then he wouldn't feel good about it.

No, Thaddeus was the one with the knowledge of how to knock someone out just by touching their pressure point, but he was currently passed out right in front of Logan at the moment. As he passed by, Logan nudged the brute in the head with his foot. "Get up," Logan said, nudging him again.

Thaddeus groaned, reaching for his head before his eyes opened. "Jesus A _Christ_. Don't tell me she gave you this much of a fight last time."

"Worse," Logan said. She'd scratched off more than the side of his face in the first abduction, and had kicked him so many times that even as a God he'd– _Hades_ had had bruises for days.

Thaddeus sat upright, rubbing at his sore temples and hacking a bit. "She punched me in the godsdamned throat. _Twice_."

"You'll get over it," Logan said, walking toward the stairs and taking them easily despite Violet's weight in his arms. It was only on the last step he noticed she was bleeding onto his shirt. Concern worried his senses for a moment, but he shook it off. He had to get her to the car first– then he could worry over whether or not she'd sustained a serious injury.

Glancing to her kid of a brother passed out on the couch, Logan shook his head. The kid would wake up and see the blood– he'd call the cops or something. "Thaddeus, you have to clean-up," Logan said as the man came scrambling down the stairs. "Do you have the note that said she needed to get away for a while?"

"Yeah, boss," Thaddeus said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and producing the forgery. "You really think they'll buy it? I mean, her ma had to of heard us."

"She's not in sound enough mind to comprehend all of this," Logan said, shaking his head. It was a bit…_unsettling_ that Violet's mother had just sat there while he took her daughter away broken and bleeding. At least with Demeter, he knew there would have been more of a struggle.

"Okay… Sure she won't attack me while I clean everything up?"

"Yes," Logan said. "But if you're that worried about it, knock her out as you did with the brother."

"The brother's name is Danny," Thaddeus said, frowning. "But sure thing, boss. I'll even pack a case of Violet's stuff, make it more convincible."

"Whatever," Logan said, holding Violet tight as he opened the front door. "Just hurry up and go back to the hotel and make sure everything's finished with that after you're done here. I'm going to take her to the house, and then I have to be headed to John's. Hecate will take care of her until you come back."

"Yes sir," Thaddeus said. "Just make sure you watch it on the drive– she's a firecracker, that one."

Logan nodded, shutting the door behind him as he hurried down off the stoop. Violet's neighborhood was quiet, a few people congregated across the street, but too busy with each other to notice Logan open the back door of the car and tuck Violet's limp form inside. Sighing, Logan reached out and ran the back of his hand down the clean side of her cheek, feeling that she was still a normal temperature, letting it trail down her neck and over her heart. The rhythm there was strong, and her breathing was even.

"Violet," he said softly, and she whimpered, twisting away from his touch. Half-alert then. She would be alright.

Logan was about to shut the door and leave her peace, when he noticed the jarred cuts all over her arms. Her t-shirt had ripped up the side too, showing pale flesh and scratch upon cut upon gouge. Eyebrows knit together, Logan reached out and touched one along the lines of her forearm. It was perfectly straight, like a surgeon's cut. But too fresh to be a scar. Other cuts still scabbed over with dried blood.

"Shit," Logan breathed out.

Violet was a lot more tortured than he thought.

Shutting the door, he moved to the driver's side of the car and got in, starting the engine and taking his cell phone from his pocket. "Hecate," he said when the other line picked up. "I have her. Thaddeus is cleaning up her house, but I'm on the way back. Please make sure everything's ready."

"Is she alright, my Lord?"

"Yeah. She hit her head and it's a bit bloody, but I think she's fine for the most part. She won't be too happy when she wakes up, though."

"Was she last time?"

Logan sighed, "Well…no."

* * *

"Hey, Aunt Ang, we got any leftover casserole? I'm starvin'."

Hecate spun, hanging the phone up on Logan with wide eyes. "Um, yes, Wyatt. It should be in the fridge next to the milk."

"Thanks," Wyatt said, about to turn away when he noticed Hecate's nervous stance. "Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine."

"Come on, Aunt Ang. I know somethin's eating at ya." Wyatt had always been a perceptive little thing, which was something Hecate both loved and abhorred about his character.

"It seems your uncle's little outing didn't go as well as planned," Hecate said, leaning back against the desk in her office.

Wyatt's lips pursed. "He didn't kill anyone this time, did he?"

"No," Hecate shook her head. "But he may be charged with kidnapping."

For a moment, both people were silent. And then, Wyatt shrugged, nodding nonchalantly. "Guess it's not the worst the guy's done. Ya really think he'll get caught with it, though?"

"No," Hecate said. "I've made sure that he won't."

"How'd you manage that?" Wyatt asked, wiping a hand across his nose.

Hecate smiled. "A Goddess never reveals her secrets, my young nephew."

And to that answer, Wyatt smiled.


	9. The Past is Now

a/n: hey everyone; i know this chapter is kind of short and uneventful; it's a bit of a filler, but mainly it's just to explain a few things. thank you for everyone who reads and reviews. you rock.

* * *

Danny Porter woke up feeling like he'd been hit in the head with a pick-axe. There was a splitting pain in the back of his neck, tingling down his spine.

"Fuck," he groaned, rubbing at the sore muscles. "Why'd Vi let me fall asleep on the couch…?"

She'd at least turned the television off for him, and he guessed she'd probably paused his game too. Vi was always making sure little details like that were taken care of. It was why Danny loved his older sister so much– she was attentive and caring. Although the fact she'd left him on the couch without a pillow so he felt like his neck was broken wasn't that great. Danny figured it was another form of punishment for giving into peer pressure yesterday.

Thoughts of that strange guy who'd stopped him and his friends made Danny shiver, rising from the couch to stretch it out of his tired limbs.

The sun was up outside, but only in a morning sort of glow. The clock above the television put it somewhere after eight in the morning. Vi had to be at work in two hours, so Danny figured he should get her up now. Walking toward the stairs, he stopped for a moment when he saw Galanthias limping out of the kitchen. She _mrow_ed at him, holding up one of her front paws as she walked.

"What's wrong, cat?" Danny asked, bending down to check her paw. He felt at it a little and Galanthias screeched, pulling away from him. "Okay, okay! I get it– you're hurt. I'll go get Vi and we'll see what we can do, cat."

Shaking his head, Danny hurried up the stairs and into Vi's room. What he found there was an empty and neatly made bed. Violet never made her bed, she said it was a waste of time because she'd just dirty it later… Danny walked over and looked at the old quilt their grandmother had made for Vi critically. It was then he saw the note folded up on top of her pillows.

_Dear Danny and Mom,_

_ I'm sorry. I can't stay here anymore. I had to get away for a while. I don't know when I'll be back. Don't worry about me. Take care of yourselves. I've left money in the account, Danny. It's more than enough to get you by for a while._

_Love, Violet._

Danny stared, mouth agape at the page.

No, no way. Violet wouldn't do this. She wouldn't just take off without a warning. That wasn't possible. That wasn't his sister. No, that was _not_ his sister…

"Mom!" Danny yelled, taking Violet's letter with him as he ran toward his mother's room at the end of the hall. "Mom!"

He found the woman sitting on the small seat in front of her window, staring outside absentmindedly. It was just the back of another townhouse, so Danny didn't understand her interest. But in a time like this it didn't really matter.

Quickly, Danny walked over to her and showed the letter. The woman didn't even look at it, just pressed her palm to the pane of glass in front of her. Danny wasn't stupid– he knew his mother's depression had left her in a catatonic state, knew she was quite a bit crazy. But this was her _daughter_. She had to care.

"Mom, did you see Violet? What happened?" Danny asked.

"Tried to warn her," his mother mumbled, not looking at him. "Told her to run…"

"Mom!" Danny asked, shaking the woman. "What _happened_?"

His mother looked at him then, straight-on. "Persephone never escaped the Underworld."

* * *

Blue-red lights flashed as the cops got into their squad car, pulled away from the curb with the blonde kid yelling at them, kicking up dirt.

Michael took a long drag from his cigarette, watched as the blonde kid went back inside, slamming the door behind him. Dino had said something like this might happen– that Logan Fairgrave guy would get to Violet Porter first. In fact, that was kind of what Dino had wanted to happen, but he'd sent Michael here just to leave no ends untied.

The deal Dino had given Michael had a lot more to it than had originally been proposed.

Of course, by the time he learned this he was already out of prison. Clean records, new car, new phone, new connections, a bank account full of cash.

Turns out though that the girl Michael was sent to get in good with wasn't actually the lover of his real target, at least not yet. She wasn't even meant to be just his lover either– he was using the girl as a political thing. Some ties with some people that made Michael's head hurt when he tried to recall the way Dino had explained it.

Michael wasn't going to back out of the deal though– there was nothing that could make him now that he'd tasted fresh air again– but he had had qualms about it. Was this Fairgrave guy going to hurt this Porter girl? Dino had assured that besides keeping her secluded, nothing bad was going to happen to her. He said to think of it as a story of Hades and Persephone, without the rape. Michael had had to do a little research for that, but he figured that if the girl wouldn't have anything bad happen to her besides being shut up in a nice house getting everything she could possibly want, then what was the hurt in taking the job?

But then came the question of how he'd talk to her if she was so shut-in. The answer was simple: _parties_. Because when in politics, there are always parties, Dino had said.

Shaking his head, Michael stamped out the cigarette and walked the block to where the car Dino had given him was parked.

The cops weren't going to believe the blonde kid's story about something bad happening to his sister. There was a note, bags were packed, a mom who was too crazy to spiel anything but nonsense. The blonde kid was lucky the cops weren't going to call a group home to come and get him or something. Michael had been in and out of those– they sucked worse than taking a bullet to the knee.

Starting the car, Michael pulled away from the street and clicked the speed dial on the latest cell phone model he'd been given. "Dino," Michael said when the other line answered on the first ring.

"Ah, Michael. How went your little spying of the girl?" Dino asked, that sharp accent of his crisp. Michael had soon found out after his release last week that Dino was from Italy. He was still on the fence about whether or not the guy was actually from the mob because of that. Not like Michael would question it out loud if that was the case; if the mob had gotten him out of that maximum security hellhole in Montana then he'd keep his mouth shut about them as long as needed.

"Fairgrave got to her first," Michael said, not bothering with pretenses. "Cops take the story that she left for a while. There's money withdrawn from her personal account, some transferred into her family's. She quit her job, emailed into her school dropping her summer classes, packed a suitcase, left instructions for her brother to call their aunt in Pennsylvania if there was any trouble, and set up an appointment with the vet for tomorrow because their cat hurt its foot or some shit. Your guy Fairgrave covered all the odds and ends on this one. No one in the real world's going to be looking for her."

"I'm glad you're taking a successful kidnapping so lightly, Michael," Dino chuckled.

Michael rolled his eyes. "I was a prisoner of war for three months, bud. Trust me, kidnapping some girl and showering her in diamonds just to gain her love and use her as arm-candy is nothing. Sounds more like some fucked up romance novel than anything."

Again, Dino laughed. "I knew you were the right man for this job, my friend. I can't wait until you remember our past!"

Now that was another thing Dino had said. That he and Michael had a _past_, but Michael really didn't have any idea what the hell the man was talking about. But the crisp, new stack of hundreds in his wallet kept Michael from questioning the insanity of it.

"Yeah, yeah. So what am I supposed to do now? I take it he won't be bringing the girl out anytime soon?"

"For now, you just wait, my friend. Enjoy your free time and make up for what you've missed lately. Mr. Fairgrave has a meeting with his colleagues coming up soon– we're not sure how long it'll last, but the girl will be under lock and key for a while."

"Alright," said Michael. "I'm not gonna get hauled back to jail anytime soon or nothing?"

"Of course not," Dino assured. "Think of this as a paid vacation for accepting the offer. I'll be in contact. Have fun."

The call ended and Michael brought the phone away from his ear, giving it a curious glance before hitting the _end_ button.

Well, a vacation then. Not like he was complaining.

* * *

Hecate stared at the young girl lying prone on the red velvet down comforter of what was to be her bedroom during her stay here.

She was as bright as Hecate remembered.

A soft little thing, with beauty not apparent, but Hecate could see the way the girl glowed in the corners of her mouth, the hollows of her skin. Her honeyed hair was soft, curled around her face. She looked somewhere on the verge of a woman and a girl. Wise and innocent. It made Hecate's heart hurt.

Sighing, she dabbed at the wound on Violet's forehead some more, cleaning away the last of the blood. Slowly, she cleaned the wound with peroxide, and put disinfectant on it, adding a few butterfly bandages for good measure. The wound wasn't too awful, and Violet didn't have a concussion, so she'd manage to wake up with a simple headache and bruise on top of the treated cut.

"Is she going to be alright?" Logan asked from where he was drifting in the bedroom's doorway. The man's arms were crossed over his chest defensively, as he tried to put on the air of nonchalance.

Hecate knew better– she could feel the worry stirring in his chest just as she could feel the radiating ache in poor little Violet's head. "She'll be fine, my Lord. Just a scratch. Everything will be better once she awakes. She only needs a bit more rest."

"Good," Logan said, nodding. "I have to leave soon. You'll call me when she wakes."

"Of course, my Lord," Hecate said, bringing the comforter up over Violet's small frame. Hecate had stripped her of her bloody and torn clothes, replacing them with a pale nightgown overtop the girl's thing cotton underwear. "I've taken the liberty of removing all sharp objects from the room."

Logan cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. He was clearly uncomfortable by the apparent realization that Violet found solace in harming herself. If the littered myraid of scars on her torso wasn't enough evidence, then the mauled skin of Violet's hips and thighs that Hecate had found while redressing the girl was. Hecate was not fazed by it though. She remembered doing the same thing in one of her prior lives, having felt so wrong in her own skin it was the only way to let things out. Everything had been better once she found out who she truly was.

Hopefully it would be the same for Violet.

"That's good, then," Logan finally said. "When she…when she was trapped in the Underworld, she used to do things like that at first. She blamed herself for her mother taking her grief out on the mortals. I guess it's a trait continued into this life."

"It's a sense of relief," Hecate said without missing a beat. "A coping method. Instead of taking your anger out upon others, you take it out upon yourself. And when you feel trapped in your skin, it is a release.

"It used to be a ceremony my Priestesses would use in order to release the darkness from themselves. Marking your skin has been around since the beginning of time, do not fear it my Lord. It does not make her any different than you or I."

Logan's mouth set in a straight line. "I know this. But, that said, we can't have her accidentally killing herself by going too deep. At least last time she was immortal– now blood loss _will_ kill her."

"I'll make sure she is well looked after, my Lord," Hecate promised.

Nodding, Logan came to stand beside Hecate a moment, looking down at Violet with curiosity. "Did she always look like this?"

"Look like what, my Lord?"

"So fragile," Logan said, brushing Violet's hair from her face. "I feel like she'll break if I touch her wrong."

Hecate smiled. "You said that the first time."

Logan's hand retracted away from Violet quickly at Hecate's statement; he cleared his throat again and stepped back. "Well, I should be going. I'll call you when the flight lands in Chicago to check on her."

"And you will call me with updates," Hecate said, smirking at him.

"Of course," Logan said, rolling his eyes. "Goodbye, Hecate."

"Goodbye, Logan," Hecate said indulging him. She gave him a small curtsey, which he returned with a bow before leaving.

After Logan's footsteps had faded, Hecate turned back to the girl lying on the bed. Violet's soul hummed steadily inside her body, golden and timeless.

Holding out her hand, Hecate concentrated until a purple smoke was produced, left in its wake a narcissus flower. The bloom was pink instead of its usual white, making Hecate frown. Having magic not do exactly as you wished it to was still disconcerting, even if it had been happening for many lives.

With a sigh, Hecate set the flower down on the nightstand next to Violet and took one last look at the young girl. The challenges that awaited her were many, but Hecate had no doubts that she could handle them.


	10. The Favorite Sister

Violet awoke confused and disorientated.

This definitely was not her bed. She was too comfortable to be on the rock of a mattress she'd had since she was seven. Blinking, she tried to let her eyes adjust to the darkness in the room, startled at her lavish surroundings. It was obviously a bedroom, but about five times the size of her own. The bed she laid in was a huge four-poster canopy, sat in the middle of the room. There was dark wood furniture here and there– nightstands, a vanity, a dresser, a wardrobe. The curtains over what looked like a very tall window were velvet, matching the comforter of the bed. Next to the vanity was a door, cracked just so Violet could see the tiled floor and gorgeous old tub in the middle of the room.

"What the hell…?" she asked, the silence echoing her voice.

A sudden pain ripped through her forehead– she touched her hand there only to feel a cut, swelling… And the night before came flooding back in waves. Her mother telling her to get out, the strange man in the house, Danny in danger, the struggle, being dragged away, warm hands on her skin…

Oh God, he'd _kidnapped_ her.

"Danny," Violet hissed, throwing the covers off and moving to stand. The man had said Danny would wake up in the morning just fine, just a headache. But what if he wouldn't?

She began to move when she realized she was no longer in her own clothes, but rather some flimsy little nightgown. She clutched at her chest, where the necklace she always wore there no longer sat.

"_Shit_."

Panic hit her like lightening, and she moved to the only other door in the room– besides the bathroom door– on the east wall, grabbing the handle and turning it viciously. It was locked. With a grunt, Violet kicked at the door, threw herself against it. _What is going on?_ She moved over to the window in the room, pulling the curtains apart. Outside, it looked like the very beginnings of the morning, the sun not having risen yet. The view looked out over a large yard, at the edge a stone wall blocking half the sight of a dense forest.

Breath rapid, Violet tried the lock on the window. It didn't matter if she was three stories off the ground– she had to get out of here. Wherever _here_ even was.

The lock on the window didn't budge either. Violet looked around the room frantically, spying a lamp on one of the nightstands. She unplugged it and went back to the window, thrusting the butt of the lamp against the lock. It took a bit, but finally there was a sharp _snap_ and the lock fell to the floor. Hands shaking, Violet pried the windows open, a rush of summer air blowing into her face.

Looking over the edge, she saw that there were vines growing up the wall below the window.

Maybe she'd rather face torture from her kidnapper than falling to her death…

_Danny_, her mind whispered. She didn't know if he was okay. She had to know if he was okay. She had to get help. She had to call home– see if he was there. And then she had to call the cops. She had to get _out of here_. She had to leave _now_ before the sun was up and someone came to check on her.

Shaking her head, she kicked one leg over the side of the window ledge, grabbing hold of it as she kicked over the other. Her feet dug into the vines and stone exterior, scraping the soles of them. Hissing, Violet slowly, very slowly began climbing down them. The vines swayed with her motions, threatening to give way when she'd made it to one of the second story windows.

"Oh no," Violet whimpered. "Please, please, _please_, don't…" She felt nerves ebb through her fingers, heat atop the vines. Suddenly, they stopped shaking. Groaning sounds fluttered the leaves, but Violet had an overwhelming sense of safety.

It took her what felt an eternity to finally be close enough to the ground that she could jump onto it with a soft _thud_. Looking around her, she noticed that the house was silent. Then again, _house_ couldn't be the right word for this place. It was _huge_. It looked like it could practically be a palace, with stone walls and gothic arches and gargoyles sitting on pedestals near the roof. The whole nine yards.

Figures her kidnapper would be some rich psychopath. It was straight out of a horror movie, and she wasn't interested in being the lead role.

Glancing this way and that, she saw no one outside. She had to run to the wall nearly two football fields away from her, and, once there, climb the vines growing on it and get into the forest and just…_get away_. If she stuck along the edge of the tree line, then maybe she could find a road. There had to be one _somewhere_, right? How else could she have been brought here?

Taking a deep breath, adrenaline and fear steadily spiking her veins, she took off across the yard as fast as she could, not bothering to look back.

* * *

"Ow, watch it woman," Thaddeus hissed as Hecate dabbed at the claw marks on his face with a warm cloth.

He'd just made it home after fixing everything in Violet's house. He'd checked on the insane mother, who had simply looked at him and said _death_ before staring off vacantly into space. He'd looked at the cat that was lying on the floor _mrow_ing in pain, and called a vet's office to leave a message about coming in. He'd cleaned up the blood, set the note "from Violet" on her pillows. Made sure the technical things he and Logan had done before coming to grab her– like resigning from Violet's summer classes and terminating her job– were finished. And then he used the passwords they'd gotten through very illegal means to transfer money to the family's accounts and clean out Violet's so things were staged for her having run away. Even left a note for Danny to call and aunt if he needed help.

The last thing Thaddeus had done was pack a bag for her. That was kind of weird. He was going through his queen's personal items after all. Even if Logan refused to admit that Violet was the queen or his wife or whatever, she had been once. And she'd been a good friend to Thaddeus in the past. He was still as loyal to her as could be.

He'd packed away some of her clothes, a few pair of clean underwear– he was so happy they were simple and not lacy or anything because he just couldn't have handled that– took her toothbrush from the bathroom– he hoped it was hers– and then he'd grabbed a few books from by her bed, a flash drive on her desk, a picture of her and Danny and their mother and what he assumed to be their father. Some simple toiletries, socks, her iPod. Lastly he'd taken a stuffed animal from on her bed, some raggedy little bunny thing that he figured would give her comfort.

Hey, he might be big and scary, but Thaddeus could be considerate when he wanted.

Too busy grabbing the glass of whiskey Chad had just poured for him, Thaddeus didn't notice when Hecate pulled her hand back. The slap she gave him was right over the wounds, and it was enough to make him curse and drop the cup in his hand, glass shattering against the kitchen floor.

"_Fuck_!" he hissed, nearly tipping back in his chair to get away from the woman standing in front of him. "What was that for?!"

"I don't like your misogynistic tone, Thaddeus. I may be a _woman_, but let us remember that times are different now. Men may _think_ they still rule, but they don't," Hecate said, starting to clean his wound again.

Thaddeus rolled his eyes, motioning for Chad to pour him another glass of whiskey. Chad did as asked, handing it to Thaddeus while laughing. "She has a point, Thaddeus. Never take a woman for granted."

"I never have!" Thaddeus said indignantly, feeling a bit betrayed by his close friend for siding with Hecate. "Even in the ancient times I was very courteous to you, Hecate."

"Courteous," Hecate said, _tsk_ing her tongue. "That's not the same a giving _respect_. I am a Goddess within my own right, Thaddeus. Just as equal as you. Magic goes back farther than Death, _Thanatos_. You would do well to remember that." She tapped him on the cut again, making him grit his teeth and knock back the entire glass of whiskey.

"I do," he said, because truly, he did. Hecate was older than he, and stronger. Though the mortals feared death, they revered magic these days. Now it was _cool_, and the more recognition Hecate got, the more power she had. "And I apologize, my friend."

"It is fine," Hecate said, giving him a small smile. "I forgive you. Just trying to keep you on your toes."

"Well, now that that's all settled," Chad said cheerfully. "I would like to inform you that her majesty just took off across the yard."

Both Thaddeus and Hecate looked outside at the same time. Sure enough, little Violet was sprinting towards the back wall, the intent to escape clear in her gate. Thaddeus looked back to Hecate, who looked to him. Before either said a word, he was out of the chair, really tipping it over this time. Grabbing Chad by the shirt collar, Thaddeus moved to the French doors of the kitchen, throwing them open and sprinting across the lawn after Violet, Chad sharp on his heels.

* * *

Though she didn't often pay herself compliments, Violet knew she was quick. She was short and had a petite build, so that made her light on her feet. Her favorite thing in gym class besides soccer had always been races. While she couldn't go distance, she could go small lengths.

Halfway to the wall, her lungs began to burn. She ignored it, pushing her limbs that much faster when a door slammed behind her somewhere. There were shouts, men yelling for her to stop but Violet kept running. And running. And running.

Until she was tackled, a man she'd never seen before– barely a man half a boy– rolling with her across the grass. Violet screamed, thrashing violently away from him as the man who'd taken her from her house came running towards them. _Not him_, she thought desperately, scrambling to her feet and trying to run once more. The guy at her feet grabbed her ankles though, bringing her back to the ground. What was with these guys and ankle grabbing? She noticed this one was blond, where the man that she had encountered last night was brunet.

"Let go of me!" Violet shouted at the blonde, struggling.

By now the brunet man had reached them, and helped the blond tow violet to her feet. Terrified was not the correct word to describe the way Violet felt. She began screaming as loud as she could, calling out for help. The sobbing began soon after, tears hot down her cheeks as she kicked and hissed and spit when the men tried to lead her toward the house again.

"No! _No_!" she cried, using the body of the man holding her to kick up off the ground. They fell backwards, her already sore head slamming to the grass. Groaning in pain, she picked herself up– the brunet had gotten just a short distance ahead, and so when he lunged for her it was easy enough for Violet to dodge him.

She tried to run again, no destination in mind; she just had to get away. The blond was still on the ground, panting because the fall had knocked the wind from him. The brunet was chasing her, trying to assure her that he wasn't going to hurt her in between curses because he kept tripping over himself.

And Violet was gaining ground, already farther toward the back wall than she had been. If she could just get to it, climb the vines…

There was a flash of smoke– Violet skidded to a stop as a woman appeared not a couple of feet away from her. "How did you…?" Violet tried to ask, but the woman made a shushing motion.

"Hush child, everything will be alright," the woman said, dark eyes trained on Violet's. She reached out, and the moment her hand touched Violet's bare shoulder, Violet went lax.

The woman caught her easily, picking her up bridal style with a surprising amount of strength for such a willowy thing. She was saying something, but Violet couldn't make out the details. Her mind felt too fuzzy, cotton-candy sticky sweet. There was a slight feeling of euphoria spreading throughout her body, and she looked dreamily up toward the lightening sky.

They passed by both of the men, the brunet coughing from having chased her and the blond still recovering on the ground. The woman carrying Violet said something to them and they nodded her off. The woman simply laughed, the tingling sound filling Violet with warmth.

Entering back into the house, Violet was vaguely aware of her surroundings. A nice, new, clean kitchen, and then a hall, and another hall, and then doors, and a large, open room, and then a set of stairs. The woman took them, still holding Violet as if the extra weight was nothing to her. And then they were in a new hall, and walking through a room, full of plush sitting furniture, and walls of books, and pretty plants and then there were more stairs, and they went up and up, and suddenly they were back in the room Violet had woken up in.

She was set down on the bed, the woman brushing her hair away from the wound on her forehead. Violet smiled up at her, lethargic and blissed. "Come now, little one," said the woman, words clear enough for violet to comprehend. "I promise it will not be all bad here. You should not run. Your brother is safe; we shall make sure it stays so."

Even though they probably shouldn't have in a situation like this, the woman's word pacified Violet. Danny was safe. _Yay_, she thought fuzzily. And why would she want to run now? Everything was so nice here. And this bed was so comfortable, and she was so sleepy…

"_Daughter of Zeus, Persephone divine, come, blessed queen, and to these rites incline: only-begotten, Pluton's honored wife,_" the woman said, but she didn't really _say_ it. She was singing, Violet realized. And it was beautiful. Soft but powerful, and the words were oh so familiar… "_Oh venerable Goddess, source of life: 'tis thine in earth's profundities to dwell, fast by the wide and dismal gates of hell…_"

Violet curled in on her side, letting her eyes drop closed as the woman began to stroke her hair and continued singing to her. The last thing Violet heard before giving into the darkness was the woman saying, "Sleep well, my queen. Soon you will remember, and the world shall make sense."

* * *

Logan sighed, touching the glass of scotch to his forehead. It was cool from the ice floating around in it, and he took a moment of solace in its frigidity.

Flying was not one of his favorite activities. He preferred solid earth to sky– that was his brother's domain to control. And besides that, planes were stuffy. Even if John had arranged for him to be in first class, that still meant people and body heat. It wasn't that Logan expected a private jet or anything, but he really wished he would have had more forewarning of the meeting so he could _drive_ to Chicago.

And so Violet's abduction could've been less catastrophic. Thaddeus had emailed him just before Logan had boarded the flight to say everything for Violet's life in Boston was taken care of, and the authorities wouldn't be looking for her. Logan figured they may a bit at first, but only for evidence of foul play, which there was none.

But that didn't fix the matter of Violet waking up in a strange house with strange people and no memory of being Persephone. Everything would be so confusing to her, and Logan still didn't get why they couldn't just _make_ her remember. Yes, he'd been eased into the memories as a child, but Violet was nearly a full-grown adult; why couldn't she handle it?

Magic frustrated him.

Sighing, Logan drained the scotch in his glass and motioned for an attendant to take away the remains. "Will we be landing soon?" he asked.

"About another twenty minutes, sir," the attendant said, smiling behind a mask of red lipstick.

"Thank you," Logan said sincerely, turning to the paperwork he'd brought with him; he figured it would be as good a distraction as any.

Business was something that came easy to him. Making deals, making rules. It was in his blood. But it made the task tedious when there was no real _meaning_ behind it. At least as Hades he had judged the souls of the dead, and that was important. Now deals were to make money. Even though Hades was God of Riches as well as the Dead, it never much interested him. Wealth was something encrypted in Logan to strive for, but it wasn't something he much sought.

When the plane finally did touch down, Logan grit his teeth and kept his eyes closed until it was over. He got off the plane quickly, thankful to have his feet on solid ground again. There was a car waiting for him outside of the airport, one he knew was owned by John because of the plates. The man that stood by the door held up a sign that said _Fairgrave_ for reassurance and put Logan's minimal suitcase in the trunk before driving to John's house in the heart of the city, Logan staring out the window absently the whole time.

The house was overly decadent, Logan couldn't help but think as they pulled into the drive. He always thought it when visiting John's homes throughout the centuries. His younger brother had a hard time of letting go of his title of King of the Gods and the luxury that came with it. Though, Logan really couldn't be one to talk. He lived well beyond his means.

He was escorted inside and left in the entry hall, marble floors and stairs, with a bright chandelier hanging over his head. "Hello, brother," said a voice from the sitting room to his right. He looked up to find Charlotte– as Hestia was called in this life– waving to him.

So long ago, she'd been his favorite sister. Sweet and funny Hestia, who gave him haircuts when they were children, before their father had swallowed their essences just after Hera's birth. Their mother, Rhea had always been so mad, but Hades hadn't cared because it had made Hestia smile and he liked making his big sister smile. And then, even as they grew older, Hestia had not shunned him. Even when he had drawn the lot to the Underworld, she had said _brother_ and _equal_ of him when people asked.

"Charlotte," Logan bowed, walking into the room to sit next to her. She hugged him, which was a bit uncalled for, for he didn't say anything, just allowed it. "Have you heard any news, yet?"

She shook her head. "Just that the Fates have given more insight as what to expect. The war is inevitable, apparently. And the Gods on the Titans' sides are already trying to boil our blood, even though the Titans still sleep in their cage."

"More than I was told," Logan said, scowling.

"Let's not talk of business yet," said Charlotte, running her hands through her curly brown hair. "Tell me what you have been up to, brother? How goes your relationship with…was it _Patricia_?"

"We ended it a while ago," Logan said, shaking his head. Patricia Clarke had been a lawyer who had helped him with legal documents for the business. She was fierce and intelligent and sexy in and _I know what I want_ kind of way and the small affair Logan had had with her had been nice, but Patricia wanted more. Like marriage, and children. Logan hadn't been invested that deep, so they'd agreed to part on friendly terms so Patricia could continue her life and Logan could… "We're still acquaintances. She helps with legal dealings quite often for me."

"That's nice that you could still be friends," Charlotte smiled. "Have you met anyone else lately?"

"No," Logan said, but didn't look his sister in the eye. Normally, lying was a simple task for him. Second nature. But with Charlotte– _with Hestia_– it had always been more difficult. She was just so innocent and nonjudgmental that Logan felt he couldn't lie to her.

For a moment, Charlotte just looked at him, and then her eyes widened. "Have you found _her_?"

"Not here, Charlotte."

"Logan, you must tell everyone if you have! To know that she is safe, and we have another on our side will greatly put everyone at ease and especially Demeter, she will be so–"

"_Not here, Charlotte_," Logan said again. "Not now."

Charlotte blinked, blue eyes confused, and then comprehension flooded her expression. "You don't want her to be taken away again."

Logan said nothing. Let her believe what she wanted. As long as she didn't tell anyone that he'd found Violet– he'd found Persephone– then Charlotte could think they were married again, for all he cared. No one needed to know that he was keeping her secret for selfish benefit.

"I understand, Logan," Charlotte said, setting a hand atop his sympathetically. "I know how much you love her."

Again, he said nothing. And Charlotte was just about to fill the silence with another comment when laughter sounded from the hall, followed by an appearance of John and Edgar and Helen. "Welcome, siblings!" called John, voice booming in the large room. "We are waiting on Demeter, who's flight has just arrived, but I'd like for you two to meet the Fates in this cycle. Such lovely young ladies."

Logan couldn't help but scoff at that. _Lovely_. If he remembered correctly, every single one of those women looked like death warmed over. They simply loved to fuck with people's heads, namely his. They'd been the ones to tell him one day he would seek the comfort of a daughter of Zeus, that he would love her with all his heart. They'd sewn that thread. Just as they'd cut it, the moment Persephone had died in his– _Hades_' arms.

Sighing, Logan stood from the couch and offered his arm to Charlotte, who took it with a small smile.

"Splendid!" John said, clapping his hands together. "Follow me, siblings!"

Logan would rather walk into a brick wall, but he didn't say so. Instead he kept his mouth shut, walking toward his fate. Quite literally.


	11. The Explanation

**a/n**: short chapter i know but i felt where it ended was a good cutting point. any critiques or questions please ask!

* * *

Once again, Violet awoke confused and disorientated.

Her limbs felt like they were made of Jell-O, and the pain in her head had turned into a dull thrum, beating in time to her now rapid pulse. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up in the bed. She was under the covers again, her nightgown having been switched from the grass-stained white one to a pale blue frock. Frowning, Violet tried to ignore it as she looked around the room.

Something on the nightstand caught her attention– a pretty little flower. A narcissus, if she was right. But this one was pink; usually they only bloomed white. Brows creasing, Violet picked up the flower and inhaled the sweet scent. There was a twinge of…smokiness to it. Shaking her head, Violet set the flower on the bed and stood up, looking toward the window.

There was a small slit of light coming in from the closed curtains. Violet went to check the lock, finding it unbroken. Could she break it again? She looked at the window and noticed it was somehow locked on the _outside_ too. How was that even possible? And not only that, but the vines below the window had been cut back, scarcely available for her to grab onto.

"What…" she let her voice trail off as there was knocking on the door across the room. Violet turned to the sound, finding the woman from earlier behind the opening door.

She smiled at Violet. "Hello, little one," she said sweetly. Violet noticed she was carrying a tray full of food, balancing it perfectly in her delicate hands. "I thought you may be hungry."

"Where am I?" Violet asked in answer, remaining by the window as the woman set the tray down on the nightstand.

She was a regal looking woman, Violet noticed. Dark skin, raven hair streaked with a bit of gray here and there. Her eyes were bright, and her willowy frame was lithe. She was attractive, but almost in an androgynous sort of way. It was very appealing, as was her warm demeanor and calmness. But Violet wouldn't be distracted like that– she needed answers.

"Connecticut," said the woman, folding herself elegantly to sit on the bed. "I cannot tell you the city though, I am afraid. Not yet."

"_Why_ am I here?"

"That…is complicated," the woman sighed.

"I'm sure I can handle it," Violet said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"To put things simply, you're here because there are a lot of people in trouble, and you're the only one that can help the Lord of the house keep them safe."

"You mean that big lug I scratched the hell out of?" Violet asked. She doubted he would be _keeping people safe_ anytime soon.

The woman shook her head. "No, that is Thaddeus. He is simply a friend of Mr. Fairgrave's– the Lord of the house. The blond man you encountered in the yard is Chad, another friend and assistant. They live on the property, as do I and the Lord's nephew, Wyatt. There are a few other attendants in and out throug the week."

"What's your name?" Violet asked.

"Evangeline," the woman said, patting the bed next to her. "Please, come and sit Violet. You must still feel light-headed."

Violet did, but she didn't want to sit next to…_Evangeline_. What if she knocked her out again? Instead Violet looked to the door, having been shut behind Evangeline but not locked. Maybe Violet could make a break for it…

As if guessing her intentions, Evangeline cleared her throat, drawing Violet's eyes back to her. "I would not attempt escape, little one. We've taken…precaution against it."

With an overly dramatic sigh, Violet moved to sit down in the vanity's chair, a good distance away from Evangeline. "Where's Danny?"

"Home," Evangeline said. "Everything has been taken care of to ensure that he'll be well looked after. We will transfer money into the needed account every month, make sure he does not get into trouble and keep him safe."

"He's fourteen years old," Violet snipped. "Do you expect him to take care of himself?"

"No," said Evangeline. "As stated, we will make sure he has everything he needs."

"What he _needs_ is someone there to take care of him, and love him. My mother isn't fit for that. At _all_." Violet felt the hot sting of tears at the back of her eyes. Her baby brother was home alone. If someone became suspicious… "What if he gets put in a group home?"

"He won't," Evangeline said. "I've made sure that he shall be safe to remain with your mother."

"How?"

Evangeline smiled, and it almost was enough to scare Violet. "I have my ways."

"I need to see him," Violet said after a moment. "I have to know he's alright."

"I can't allow that," Evangeline said. "We have everything set so that it seems you left on your own. I'm sure you understand as to why we can't jeopardize that."

"No!" Violet said, tone rising. "I really don't understand! I don't understand why you kidnapped me, what I'm doing here! I'm just a _fucking_ college student that works at K-mart. Why would _anyone_ want to kidnap me?"

"You can _help_ people," Evangeline said, remaining perfectly calm even though Violet had stood from where she sat during her shouting, and was stomping her feet childishly. "You're more important than you think, Violet Porter. If you just remember who you are, you'll soon understand."

"I remember who I am perfectly! I'm Violet, twenty year old socially awkward older sister. _That_'s who I am."

Evangeline smiled again, shaking her head. "You'll learn the truth soon enough, little one. Until then, eat. It's nearly noon and you must be starving. I'll be back to check on you soon."

Violet watched as Evangeline left, shutting the door behind her. Violet could hear the _click_ as the lock slid into place, and it was only a moment before she let out a muffled scream, letting the tears that had been withheld fall. She threw herself onto the bed, pressing her face into the pillows so her sobs would be soundless.

This wasn't fair. How could this possibly happen to her? What had she even done? Violet liked to consider herself a good person. She took care of her family even though that wasn't really her job, and she had no complaints about it. She didn't start trouble; she was as nice to everyone she met as she could be, and she was honest. How was that a sentencing for this?

It didn't even make _sense_. She was here because she could help people? How could she help people when she'd been kidnapped and locked in a room to rot? At least if Evangeline had told her that this Mr. Fairgrave wanted to rape and torture and murder her, things would have been more understandable as to why he kidnapped her. But no, here she was in a lavish room with a nightgown that probably cost more than her wardrobe and a nice, albeit crazy woman bringing her food.

Thinking of it made Violet's stomach growl. Last night she hadn't had much for dinner, having had a stomach ache from the sweetness of the ice-cream she'd eaten with Danny that afternoon. She was _starving_. Looking at the tray, she found basically everything one could want. There was a muffin, toast, jelly, hash browns, eggs, bacon, sausage, three different kinds of fruit, tea, orange juice, milk and coffee. It all smelled heavenly and her mouth watered.

But she wasn't going to touch it.

If she was stuck here, she wasn't going to do a _goddamn_ thing that they wanted her to. She'd rather die. If she was going to be stuck in this room, she was going to waste away and hopefully have a heart attack. She wasn't going to _help_ anyone. Screw them. Screw them and this Mr. Fairgrave and his friends and everything they wanted her to do. She hadn't been asked if she wanted this. She hadn't even _known_ about any of this. What was it even?

She didn't care. She wanted to go _home_. She wanted to see her little brother. He was there without anyone to care for him. Sure, Danny was resourceful and could take care of himself perfectly fine, but he shouldn't _have_ to. He was fourteen, for God's sake. A year and a half younger than Violet when she had to start taking care of things, and at sixteen it had been bad enough. He was supposed to be a kid– she wanted him to be able to be a kid.

But now he thought she'd _left_ him. All alone with a crazy mother to care for. How _could _she? Never in a million years would she do so, even if it did mean helping people. She'd scorn the world to take care of her baby brother. He was the only person she had left, and she was the only person he did.

They had an aunt in Pennsylvania that visited on the holidays and was sane enough, sure. But she wasn't the type to be able to take care of kids full time. She'd called when they were younger and their mom had lost it, and always made sure Violet and Danny had what they needed if Violet couldn't. But she wasn't _nurturing_ enough to love Danny the way he needed to be loved. And who even said he'd thought to call her, now that Violet was gone?

Evangeline had said she'd made sure that Danny wouldn't be put in a group home, but how could Violet believe the woman? She had to be insane, if she was so content with letting Violet be kidnapped and held against her will like this. Not to mention the way she'd told Violet things would make sense when she _remembered who she was_. What kind of sick game were these psychos playing at?

If anything, Violet began to cry harder, punching at the pillows and kicking her legs against the bed. She didn't know what to do, _how_ to do anything but lay in despair. Her head was throbbing and her stomach in knots and her limbs ached now that they were no longer lax.

She just wanted to go home. She wanted to go to work, and hate her life, and go to school and complain about homework and midterms and eat pizza and play video games with Danny and help him study for his chemistry test and maybe throw up the pizza and drink Diet Coke while Galanthias whined for milk and take care of her insane mother and sleep in her own overly uncomfortable bed and fill her sketchbook with drawings of flowers and fawns and go on walks through the park in spring and winter and go out awkwardly on dates with Albany and try to flirt with guys or girls or whoever she wanted to and then maybe fall in love and graduate college and get a real job with her beloved flowers and get married and adopt a dog and have babies and put Danny through college and watch him change the world so she could grow old and have grandchildren and die in her sleep, fat and happy and content with her life.

But now, how was any of that possible? Unless she escaped from here, who was to say she'd get to keep her life? She remembered stories of kidnapping, rape, murder, sex-trafficking, torture. She'd even heard one story of a couple who had kidnapped a girl when she was hitchhiking and had tied her up and had sex in front of her before keeping her in a box under their bed for seven years.

Violet thought she may be sick.

Stumbling out of the bed, she ducked into the bathroom, finding the toilet and tipping herself toward it, vomiting stomach acid followed by dry heaves. She coughed, plugged her nose so nothing would come out of it because she knew from experience it always did.

After she was finished, she just laid there, arms around the toilet bowl to give her support. Usually when she puked, she could just get up afterward and wash herself off and rinse out her mouth and be done with it. Now though, she had no energy. She'd lay on this bathroom floor forever and just die.

Why not?

In the back of her mind, she knew she was being dramatic. She knew she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and find a way to escape, or find out what these people really wanted. But she couldn't. She just couldn't right now. The only thing she could do was begin to cry again, letting go of the toilet and curling up on the floor, knees tucked into her chest with arms around them as she shook with her sobs.

She just wanted to go home.


	12. The Keys of Hades

The Fates were as eerie as Logan remembered.

Klotho and Lachesis had returned in this life as cousins, Klotho taking on the name Molly with bright red hair, and Lachesis Alice with blonde curls. They were under watch of Atropos, who was called Tamara. She was a good deal older than Molly and Alice, both of the girls being in their mid-teens whereas Tamara looked about sixty. Molly and Alice were pale little things, and Tamara was a raven skinned and quite round woman. She stared at Logan with almost dead eyes as he walked in.

"Hades, Hestia, these are our long missed Fates," John said, golden hand gesturing to the women that sat around the long, ornate table occupying John's meeting hall. "We are so thankful to see them again."

"_Bonjour, amis de longue date_," Charlotte said, letting go of Logan's arm so she could curtsey. Charlotte's family had lived in France before immigrating to America when she was ten. French was her first language, but she had spoken and interacted with English long enough her accent had all but faded. "A pleasure, as always."

"You too," the cousins said in sync, their voices squeaky; Logan could see their hands shaking, revealing how nervous they were.

"Lady Hestia," Tamara nodded, a thick Jamaican accent coating her next words. "Still our virgin Goddess afta all these years, I see."

Charlotte blushed, moving to take a seat embarrassedly. Logan simply stared after her. Countless lives and she _still_ hadn't gotten any? That was a feat within itself, one that left Logan thinking, not for the first time, she had the strongest willpower of them all.

"Come here, young Hades," Tamara said, shocking Logan out of his thoughts.

Loga turned pensively toward the woman, closing the distance between them. Denying the Fates was something he had learned never to do.

Tamara grinned wickedly, reaching up to place her hand on his face when he was close enough, and resting it there. She closed her eyes, Logan looking around the room uncomfortably as she did. He noticed then the yarn and needles on the ground in front of the Fates. _Of course_ they would be knitting.

"Aye, can't expect us ta change our nature," Tamara chuckled in comment to his observation. This was what he disliked most about the Fates– one touch and there was your entire life and all your thoughts.

It was five minutes before Tamara finally stopped touching him. Logan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Standing back to his full height, he raised an eyebrow at her. Did she know about Violet now? The glint in Tamara's eyes said _yes_, yes she did. But Logan knew she wouldn't tell anyone. The Fates didn't interfere with people's lives; they only enforced the natural order already set for each person's lifespan, and told what the universe allowed them to.

"I'm not as strong as I used ta be," Tamara said at last, curling her lips back to reveal yellowing teeth. "But I can see da power in you, young Hades. It burns like ya siblings' do. And when yous are reunited with ya lover, it shall be difficult ta extinguish such intensity of ya abilities.

"Before young Zeus split souls in 'alf, the mortals were much stronga. It is the same for da Gods, and though we were never combined, we are pieces that fit together."

Logan nodded, his entire reason for kidnapping Violet having been confirmed by Fate itself. At least now he knew he hadn't ripped that girl away from her life for nothing. He didn't feel guilty for it, more or less just unsettled. He didn't like leaving her child of a brother on his own, but Hecate had assured she had put a veil on the boy so he wouldn't be put into the system because his mother was unfit to take care of him. There was also an aunt not too far away who could come if there were some emergency. And Logan was making sure the boy had more than enough means to live upon.

Still, the fight Violet had given had told Logan just how much she did not want to leave.

But now, it was all worth it.

Sighing, Logan sat down at the table near the head by John and Edgar. John was chattering with an assistant, Edgar texting on his phone. Logan chose to sit in silence for the next thirty minutes until Fawn arrived, taking the seat farthest away from him. Her green eyes were tired, the crow's feet at the edges strained with worry. Logan guessed that she had been looking for Violet– for _Persephone_.

"Ah, sister," John said, giving welcome to her. "It seems now that you're here, we are ready to begin!" He motioned his assistant away, who closed the doors behind himself, leaving just the siblings and the Fates, who were busy knitting, the cousins casting glances toward Fawn, trying to identify the new face.

Charlotte, who sat next to Fawn, made a motion to pat the older woman's shoulder in comfort. She was saying reassuring words to Fawn, subtly casting glances at Logan that said _please tell her_ because Charlotte couldn't stand to watch her loved ones be pained.

Logan didn't really care either way though.

Now that he knew Violet would be his most needed alliance, he wasn't giving her up. He didn't care if that was selfish or manipulative. He would not let the Titans win this time. The look on Cronus' face when he had escaped from Tartarus– that smirk that said _you have lost again, son_– was enough to leave Hades' mind imprinting the message of _never again_ throughout every lifetime. Because if there was one Olympian that hated Cronus the most, it was Hades, which in turn meant Logan too.

"As you know," John said, cutting off all other conversation in the room. "We have gathered here as our beloved Fates have confirmed their earlier prophecy of war."

"What kind of war?" Fawn asked, giving the women a skeptical look.

"One far worse than da last, Lady Demeter," said Tamara, pausing in her knitting. "In da last, you were a dying breed, and when da Titans were released it was just they afta ya. Now, ya are a growing breed and some seek ta bring the Titans forth and claim da thrones of Olympus. New enemies awaitin'."

"But how is that even possible?" asked Helen, John's wife and the incarnate of Hera.

This time, it was, shockingly, Molly that spoke, "They have, like, figured out the way to, like, drain immortality from others, so they can become stronger, and you know, more Godly or whatevs," the teen babbled. "If they have taken enough divinty, then they, like, shall be Gods once more. There is divinity in all of us, but that's not to say it's, um, for keeps, you know." She didn't even look up from her knitting the entire time.

"But how do they drain power from others?" Logan asked, thinking that if they could figure it out, the tactic could be reversed and those with the Olympians could use it against those with the Titans so that they were evenly matched.

"We don't know yet," said John, disappointing Logan as always. "But we do know how they are getting to the Titans."

"I still say it's impossible," Fawn sighed.

"Technically, dear sister, it is," John agreed. "No live mortal can step foot into the Underworld without the permission of Hades, and since _he_ is mortal now, you must be dead to enter unless–"

And the gears turned in Logan's head.

"Unless you have the Keys of Hades," he said before John could finish, going rigid in his seat. "But that isn't possible. Those too are in the Underworld, guarded by my judges."

"They _were_," Tamara said.

"Excuse me?" Logan asked.

"They were," Tamara repeated. "What was once in da Underworld is now on earth, young Hades."

"But how is that possible?" asked Charlotte, leaning forward across the table in anxiety. "If no one alive can enter…"

"Ah, but no one alive _did_ enter," Tamara smiled. "Ya see, there are still mortals who form cults ta worship us. One of those cults is in favor of Lady Nemesis. One little request, and some poor idiat was willin' to die fo her. Somehow, he got da keys and, with modern medicine, it was easy to bring him back to da living. And we all know that what's taken in the Underworld comes back ta ya topside."

All Gods around the table were silent at this. Most in trepidation and shock, while Logan was boiling with mute rage. They had gone into _his_ domain and stolen from _him_. The Keys had been worn around the necks of his judges. How had one dead mortal gotten to them?

_How_?

"But they don't have the Key to Tartarus," he said at last, taking a deep breath so he would not go on a rampage and break everything in John's house. He was in no mood to get reprimanded for it right now. "It vanished the last time that they were released."

"It didn't _vanish_, young Hades. Rather it _appeared_. Once twisted through da lock, the key faded inta care of da mortals," said Tamara, _tsk_ing her tongue. "They sell it ta the highest bidda."

"_Through the lock_?" Logan questioned, bypassing the rest of the information for a moment. "That means someone _unlocked_ their cell. I thought the Titans escaped because the bonds we had placed weakened when the mortals stopped worshiping us and we began to lose our divinity."

"No, young Hades. Those bonds weren't a part of da Gods– they were a part of the Underworld," Tamara explained. "Though ya had all used ya powers to cage da Titans, their prison was in Tartarus, protected by its bound'ries once the bond was solidified. That kind of magic can't be undone, but it can be unlocked."

"By _who_?" demanded Logan.

"Brother! Calm yourself," John warned, looking toward Logan's hands that were grabbing at the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. Logan retracted his hands, not liking his brother's critical eye. "We do not know who opened the gates– but that is not the problem now. Now, we must find your Key to Tartarus. If we have it, then our enemy cannot get into Tartarus, which solves half of the war."

"But they'll still try and drain us of our power?" asked Fawn.

"Yes," John sighed. "They mainly want to release the Titans because they know that they will go after us first. Good old Mother and Father shan't be happy after so many more years of entrapment. Gods know they weren't last time." John gave a less than humorous chuckle, not meeting the eyes of anyone. He'd been their mother's favorite, and still idolized her even though she'd sided with Cronus in the end.

"So the main focus now is to get the Key," Edgar said, stepping in for John. "Do we have any idea where it is?"

The Fates shook their head. "We see lives, not keys," said Tamara, and was about to continue before Molly interjected. "But we do know there is a way to, like, _track_ it."

"How so?" asked Logan, giving the women a critical glance. "Don't tell me a virgin sacrifice, or something." He'd taken care of the mess from those ceremonies enough times he wasn't in the mood to deal with another one.

"No," said Tamara. "But it does require blood magic. Since ya the owner of the key, young Hades, you gotta be the one to perform the ceremony. And to do that, ya got ta have somethin' from when ya was immortal yourself."

"I don't have anything like that," Logan said, frowning. All of Hades' possessions remained in the Underworld, more than likely untouched since he, along with the others, had sacrificed themselves to put the Titans back into their cage.

"You'll figure somethin' out," Tamara said, showing her yellowed teeth again as she smiled. "Until then, ya all must be on the look for allies toward ya cause. Ya have little Eros, but there are many more out there."

"But how do we find them?" Fawn asked, almost desperately.

"You cast a spell," said John.

Logan looked at the table. It was humorous that Hecate had known all of this first, before the Fates had been found. The woman had out staged his siblings endlessly. It was how she had found Logan in this life, having remembered her former self when she was a teenager and Logan was just a babe. The spell itself required a lot of magic, he knew, but it was Hecate's element and was why she could use it more often than most. And she knew all of the right words, the right offerings to spirits to track the souls of the Gods' incarnations.

But Logan wouldn't tell these people that. While he wanted to finish this whole ordeal quickly, he wouldn't exploit Hecate. She had been too good a friend to him for that.

"It is a very costly spell," John continued. "It drains quite a lot of your divinity because the magic of it is so potent. But every few months we can all perform it."

"My daughter!" Fawn cried heavily, standing from her chair. "You must show me immediately, John. I have to…I _have to see her_."

Swallowing dryly, Logan looked to Tamara, who gave him a wicked grin. "Be warned, Lady Demeter," she said crookedly. "If a God or Goddess has already been claimed by another's magic, yous cannot seek them out. Example bein' even if those sided with da Titans wanted to try and corrupt little Eros, they couldn't 'cause he's bonded ta Lady Hera, the one who cast the spell ta find him."

"Well, it wasn't to find _him_ specifically," said Helen. "I was just trying to find another God, but he was the first I focused in on."

"But, what if I were _trying_ to find Persephone?" Fawn asked, her eyes beginning to water. Gods, she was going to cry. Logan was _not_ in the mood for that.

"Then ya need an offering ta her element. But, as I said Lady Demeter, ya cannot find her if she is already claimed," Tamara warned. "There are many Gods out there that aren't on either side, and if any one of them found her since she's been livin' in this cycle, then their divinity is a guise to hers, and vice versa. When da Gods group together, the spell don't work no more because they've bonded."

Fawn nodded, sniffling to keep her tears from falling. "I want to try though. I _have_ to try."

Charlotte shot Logan an accusing glance from across the table as Fawn spoke, but Logan ignored her. Wasn't his problem if Fawn was mopey about not having hold on Violet. _Finders keepers_ he wanted to childishly say. He'd been the on to take Violet first, so technically she belonged to him now. He'd bonded with her, as had Hecate and Thaddeus, and, by now, probably Chad.

The last thought prickled him a little bit. If he didn't know better, he would've said it was jealousy over having to share Violet. In reality, he was simply worried that that many Gods in one place were an easy target. _Note to self to strengthen the wards around the house…_

"We will begin immediately," John was saying once Logan decided to tune back into the present conversation. "I know it is much to ask, but we are stronger together siblings. There is plenty of room here for everyone, and in a matter of weeks we can have five new allies, if we all work together on this."

"Only five?" asked Charlotte. "But there are six of us."

"I'm afraid I'm still too drained from finding Eros, sister," Helen interjected. "I shall show you all how to properly go about it though– it is a bit frightening at first."

"So wait," Logan said, pressing his hands to the table with a scowl. "You're saying you want us to _stay_ here?"

"Of course," John said, as if the request wasn't a burden. "As I said, we are stronger together. Just a week, two at the most, brother. It is your _job_ to do such a thing."

"My _job_ is back in Connecticut, actually. And I can't take two weeks off. This is a busy season." He was lying about that. Winter was the busy season, when everyone got sick and croaked.

But he had Violet at home, and he needed to talk with her as soon as possible and get her to start remembering things. Hecate had said interactions with people from her past, namely him, would help, as well as Logan showing her how to use her powers. Once they were fully developed, there was no way she wouldn't remember, but until that point he needed to teach her how to wield them so the process would move along quicker.

Not only that, but he had to prepare her for the fact that she was not a human, which, he could see, to any adult who had thought they were for their entire life it would be an unbelievable thing. Logan had had the luck of being found by Hecate when he was young and still open to such matters of the world. Plus he had left himself memoirs throughout the centuries. His house itself he had built three hundred years ago, and to step inside it was an instantaneous trigger to his memories of the past.

But for Violet this was, as far as he knew, her first reincarnation in millennia. The memories had to be locked away somewhere deep after so many years of oblivion.

"You can_not_ deny this responsibility, Hades," John said, giving Logan a stern glare. "Do not forget I am still your King, and you cannot refuse a command from me, which this is something that I command."

"Why you little son of a–"

"Logan," Charlotte interrupted, shaking her head at him slowly.

Taking a deep breath, Logan bit back his comment. He was a man of honor, unfortunately. He had to accept the request, as it was a law and he was an enforcer of such things. It would break his very ethic not to. But that didn't mean he wasn't livid when he agreed to stay at John's house and perform the rituals with everyone.

"Splendid," John said, giving Logan a shit-eating grin. He had half a mind to smack it off of the man's arrogant face, but Logan figured it would simply lead to a quarrel and wasn't worth it. "For now, you must all be hungry! I'll have my attendants show you to your rooms, and get started on lunch!"

Logan was the first to stand, grumbling as he followed an attendant from the room to the foyer and up the marble staircase to one of the guest rooms in John's house. It was an ugly room, everything in some soupy green color with overly feminine furniture. Logan gave the place a blank frown, and sat down at the desk in the room, taking his cell phone from his pocket and hitting speed dial for the house.

"You were supposed to call when you landed," Hecate said accusingly when she answered.

Logan sighed. "Wasn't in much of a mood."

"I know you hate flying, my Lord, but really, I was worried something had gone wrong and that–"

"There's been a change in plans," Logan said, ready to get to the point and end the phone call so that he could take a nap before lunch. He hadn't slept all night, having tried to on the plane ride but his nerves had kept waking him up.

"And what is that, my Lord?"

"Instead of a few days, I'm going to be here for a few weeks." If he didn't commit suicide in that time period, it would be a miracle. "They've figured out how to find the others, like you have. They want all of us to try it, and I'm guessing to keep trying once we regain our strength."

"But it shall take away all of your divinity for a time," Hecate said indignantly. "You are not meant for magic, Logan. None of you are, as it is not your element. The only reason I can so often use it is because I created it."

"I know," Logan said, leaning forward into his lap to stretch out his back. Gods, he was getting old quickly. "That's why John wants us all together right now– he thinks it'll lend more power."

"Hmm," Hecate hummed. "I can see where he comes from in that regard, but you shall still be vulnerable. Let us hope your enemies do not attack during this time."

"It wouldn't be of any use," Logan shrugged. "Turns out the reason they want the Titans released so much is in hopes of distracting us so they can take our divinity. They've somehow figured out a way to do so. Even if the Titans aren't released, they'll still try."

"How would they release the Titans in the first place? No living can enter the Underworld."

"They have the Keys."

The other line was silent for a minute, two, three… Logan began to wonder if Hecate had hung up on him when she said, "Do they have the key to Tartarus?"

Logan shook his head, and then realized Hecate wouldn't be able to hear that. "No," he said. "It is still lost. But the Fates said that since I am linked to it, there is a way of tracking it down. I don't know how to though, as it involves needing something from when I was a God, which I have none of."

"I see," Hecate said, and was silent again for a moment. "How long do you expect to be gone?"

"Two weeks at the most."

"Alright…"

"How's Violet?" Logan asked after a moment, because he knew Hecate wanted him to.

"She is frightened, my Lord. And angry. And very worried for her brother. She tried to escape when she first woke up– once again got the best of Thaddeus, and Chad too. But I was able to sedate her."

"How'd she get out of the house?" Logan asked, eyebrow raised.

"She, well…she climbed out of the window."

"She _what_?" Logan asked, standing up from the seat. "How didn't she kill herself?"

"The vines, my Lord."

"Those things are too flimsy. I know she's small but there isn't any way they could've held under a squirrel's weight, much less Violet's. Just one yank and they snap for Gods' sake."

"You forget that her element _is_ nature, sir. When I went to have Chad remove the vines so she could not attempt escape in that route again, he said they were practically grown into the wall, and so thick he had to cut them down with a saw. It would figure her powers would be more active under duress," Hecate mused.

Logan shook his head. "And she still has no idea who she once was?"

"No, my Lord. I know you wish for her to quickly, but as I said before, I cannot use magic on her. Her brain is too developed for such an onslaught of memories. It may turn her insane."

"I know," Logan sighed, running a scraggled hand down his face. It was a nervous habit he'd had since he was a child. "But I won't be there to help her remember any time soon, so it's up to you and those two idiots who call themselves assistants. Outdone by a little girl, how ridiculous…"

"She is a fighter, my Lord."

"Obviously," said Logan with a roll of his eyes. "Well, that is all the information I have learned so far, and I'd like some time to sleep before having to deal with my siblings again, so I'm going to let you go, Hecate."

"Of course, my Lord. Though do call me if you learn anything else."

"I will," Logan said. "Have a good day, Hecate."

"You too, Logan."

And he hung up, setting the cell phone down on the desk. Standing to stretch, he took off his jacket, unknotted his ties, and stripped of his shoes and socks. The bed was too plush for his liking, but as tired as he was it didn't much matter. The moment he closed his eyes he was practically asleep.

And he'd dream of a girl with green eyes, begging him not to steal her away from all she's known, even though they both know he will.

* * *

**a/n**: hey guys, tons of updates lately huh? And I know that it says that once two Gods have joined together the spell to find them does not work, which doesn't correlate with Hecate finding Violet since she lived with Danny (who is Erebus) but you should know that while not stated in this chapter, there is an exception for primordial deities considering the fact they existed _before_ magic did, so its laws have no effect on them, or anyone in association with them. (i.e. Danny and Violet in this case.)

Thanks for reading, and I know this chapter may be kind of confusing with so much information, so if you have questions _please_ ask. I'd love to answer them. You can leave them in a review or PM me, whichever you'd like! Big thanks to everyone who's been here since the start, and all those joining in. It means more than you could know.


	13. The Boy by the Door

**a/n**: i tried my best here guys; my head's so spacey right now sorry if it's crap writing. i just had to post violet and wyatt's first meeting. i love them.

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_Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three…_

Violet sucked in a deep breath, air filling her burning lungs as she stared up at the bathroom ceiling languidly. It'd been hours since Evangeline had left her be. She could see the light fading in the bedroom from where she laid, guessing it was probably around seven at night based on when the sun set during the summer months.

Sighing, Violet threw her arms over her face and tried not to start crying again. Her eyes were already swollen, cheeks raw. She'd managed to throw up about three more times, not all of them accidental. Her throat burned, and sobbing wasn't going to help that. She could feel the sweat sticking to her, grimy from her attempt at escape. She hadn't showered since yesterday morning before her and Danny went into the city and she'd had that date with Logan…

Had it really been a date? She'd left the man high and dry even though it seemed he'd genuinely wanted to spend time with her. What if they would've ended up liking each other? _Did she like him?_ What if they would have fallen in love? Gotten married, had kids, grown old together? _Ha_, Violet thought. But they were valid questions; now she'd never get the opportunity to answer them.

Considering breaking the lock on the window again and simply throwing herself out of it, Violet moved into a sitting position as someone knocked on the door. It unlocked in the next second, creaking open. "Violet?" called Evangeline, her voice easily recognizable. "Violet…? Oh, don't tell me she's gotten out again…"

Violet considered letting the woman freak out more and just being a silent listener, but then she croaked, "In here," because she wanted to get the interaction over with.

Evangeline came into the bathroom, lingering in the doorway as she looked Violet over. "Oh, you poor child. You're a _mess_. We need to clean you up… I brought you dinner. You can eat first, if you'd like? I noticed you didn't touch anything I brought you earlier. Don't you like any of it?"

Violet figured it would be easier to lie than giving the real explanation as to why she hadn't eaten. "No," she said, remaining on the floor as Evangeline walked over to help her to her feet.

"I brought you pot roast and carrots and potatoes and a roll and some cheesecake this time. Do you like any of that?"

Violet shook her head, feeling the room spin at the action. She hadn't stood for hours, and the session of repeated puking had left her feeling drained. Plus, the endless sobbing had taken its own toll. She was tired, physically and mentally. Right now she wanted to fall into a coma and wake up realizing this was all some terrible dream, and she was at home in her bed with Galanthias sleeping on her chest.

"Well heavens then, Violet. What do you like?" Evangeline asked, leaning Violet's ragged body against the vanity sink so that she could fill the tub with water. "How about we just get you cleaned up first, and then I'll take you to the kitchen and we can find you something you'll eat."

The kitchen. All the way through the house, twists and turns and Violet could _run_. She could just run and find a way out, or better yet a _phone_. Call the cops, scream kidnap, and let them trace the call. Get rescued, go back home to Danny. She figured she hadn't been through enough traumas yet to develop post traumatic, so she could forget about this whole thing Scotts free.

"Now take off your nightgown little one. I'll get it washed for you."

"Aren't you going to leave the room first?" Violet asked, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

Evangeline smiled, completely good natured when she said, "But then who would help with your bath, little one?"

Violet blinked. "You're going to bathe me?" The woman couldn't be serious.

"Of course," Evangeline smiled. "I used to help you all the time."

If she hadn't felt so tired, Violet probably would've lost it at that comment. This was _insane_. This woman's boss had kidnapped her and locked her away and now Evangeline expected for Violet to be peachy keen on letting the woman give her a bath? What was _wrong_ with these people?

"Fine," Violet finally said, pulling the nightgown off her shoulders so it fell to the floor in a puddle at her feet. She wasn't up for arguing. She just wanted to get this over with. Next she took off her underwear, feeling extremely self-conscious and trying to cover herself with her arms.

Evangeline laughed, not at her, but at the situation. "I have the same organs as you, Violet. I have seen a naked woman before. I promise I won't bite."

Violet didn't much trust Evangeline's word on it, but climbed into the tub nonetheless, warm water soothing her instantly. Evangeline splashed more over her head, and Violet suddenly had the urge to laugh. She felt like a child. Like a toddler having their mother bathe them. Except this woman wasn't her mother. She was crazy enough to be her mother, but she still wasn't her.

Staring down into the tub, Violet felt overly vulnerable. Not because she was naked, but because her scars were showing. All of them. They covered her thighs, her hips, her sides, her stomach, her ribs, her chest, her arms…

Violet glanced nervously to Evangeline, who seemed to have no mind of it. Her face was set in concentration as she grabbed some soap from the side of the tub and squeezed a dollop into her palm, lathering it into Violet's hair.

"It's okay, little one," Evangeline said after a moment. "We all have scars."

Frowning, Violet looked down at the foggy water she sat in, pulling her knees up to her chest. How had Evangeline known what she was thinking so easily? Flashes of the reoccurring nightmare she'd had over the past weeks broke into her mind. Violet thought back to that day when she'd passed out at the bus stop. _Found you, little one._

With a start, Violet jerked away from Evangeline, soap threatening to slip into her eyes. "What the hell is going on here?!"

Evangeline sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. "There are things in this world that are hard to explain, Violet."

"Well, I don't care," Violet said stubbornly, covering herself with her arms. "I want to know why I'm here. What's the point? If you guys want to rape me or torture me or kill me or whatever, just…just _get it over with_. I want to go home. I want to see my little brother. I don't care what kind of game you're playing at here, because I don't want to play it."

"You aren't going to believe me if I tell you the real reason you're here," Evangeline said after a moment of silence.

"Try me," Violet growled. Never in her life had she been so assertive, but being kidnapped drove people to new lengths, she figured.

"Another time, little one."

Violet grumbled, remaining still as Evangeline moved to wash the soap from her hair and start scrubbing at her skin with a prickly brush. It burned, but Violet grit her teeth and bared it. The sooner this was over, the better. Next came more soap, which tingled so much that the hairs on Violet's body rose. She felt as if her skin wasn't her own. And then there was another soap, and lots of water to rinse with. By the time Evangeline was done with her, Violet felt raw and refreshed.

Evangeline helped her out of the tub, letting Violet stand there in her birthday suit as the woman got her an overly fluffy towel. "Is this new?" Violet asked as it was wrapped around her body.

"Well of course," Evangeline said, as if it was an insult if the towel weren't.

Violet blinked, and before she could stop herself she was saying, "Oh, you really didn't have to buy me new towels." She felt guilty someone had spent money on her; it was a long driven instinct inspired by the fact that growing up her family hadn't had much money, and every time they spent it on her for something that wasn't a necessity, she'd always felt awful.

"Violet, sweetheart, it's okay."

Again, Violet blinked. She remembered the sheer size of the house, the beautiful furniture in it and the cost of precautions it must have taken to afford in kidnapping her without flaws. New towels for the owner of this house were like bubblegum money.

Sighing, Violet let Evangeline lead her into the bedroom, where she noticed the tray from earlier in the day had been replaced with a new one. Evangeline sat her down on the bed and walked to the vanity in the room, taking out a fine comb and coming to run it through Violet's curls. It felt nice, but Violet still didn't trust on whether or not Evangeline was going to stab her from behind or something.

When Violet's hair was brushed, Evangeline moved to the wardrobe and took out a soft nightgown, brining it over to Violet. It was pink, with little flowers printed in the cotton. Evangeline slipped it over Violet's head, and then braided her hair now that it had dried a bit more.

"Now," said Evangeline. "Let's get you something to eat."

She led Violet from the bedroom, keeping a good hold on her hand so she wouldn't run. Violet was alert enough to finally really take in the grandeur of the house. The hall outside of the bedroom was a deep red with oak panels and floor, large tables topped with vases full of flowers on either side of her. It gave way to a short case of stairs, which led down to a room that was as large as a small house. It had books, books and more books stacked around it, with plush seats and a large flat screen television. There was every movie imaginable in a case next to the entertainment center.

In the corner of the room was a locked door. Evangeline took a key from the pocket of her apron, turning it in the lock so the door opened. So Violet would be locked away even here. Stepping onto the landing, Violet looked down the stairwell and gasped. It was so _steep_. Evangeline dragged her on anyways, and Violet gawked at how high the ceilings were, beautiful chandeliers hanging from them.

At the bottom of the stairs was a new hall, full of doors and doors and doors. They stopped at the end, taking the right archway there and walking a few paces until they were in an immaculate kitchen complete with everything any professional cook could need. Violet was silent about it, just taking in everything. There was a microwave toaster, for God's sake. Who even had one of those anymore?

She was steered to a chair at the small table in the kitchen, which looked out a set of French doors onto the back lawn. Violet figured this is where the two men had come from when they'd tried to grab her; and Evangeline too.

"What would you like, little one?" Evangeline asked.

"Um…" _What will distract you to make the most?_ "How about French toast and a veggie omelet?"

Evangeline smiled. "Of course."

The woman began moving about the kitchen and taking out the supplies she would need, singing to herself softly the whole time. "..._celestial, chthonian, and marine one, lady of the saffron robe_…"

Violet thought the tune familiar, but she had no time to get wrapped up in Déjà vu, so as Evangeline was mixing together the ingredients for an omelet, Violet slowly stood from her chair and began tiptoeing to the door. She almost cried when she thought Evangeline was turning around, but the woman simply put a skillet on the stovetop and turned back to her mixing bowl.

Not wasting any more time, Violet dashed from the room and noticed another arch across from the one leading to the kitchen. She ran through it, seeing as how it had looked like all the doors in the hallway Evangeline had led her through were locked. Darkness consumed the newest hall Violet ran through, only small sconces giving sight for her to notice the hall was nothing but windows behind thick velvet curtains.

It ended in a large, round room made of marble with a crystal chandelier overhead. There was a piano at one arc, and doorways at all others. _A ballroom?_ Violet wondered, but didn't take time to pause as she ran through the fartherest door, finding herself in yet another hall. And on and on she ran, before suddenly there was a bright light, and she stomped into a new room of marble. There was a large staircase in the middle of it that led to a second level, and when Violet saw the enormous front door across from her, she nearly wept with relief.

By this point she was out of breath, so she tried her best not to stumble as she walked to the door. The effort was wasted though as she bumped into a table, sending a vase atop it toward the floor. She paled as the sound of the vase shattering rang through the entry hall, knives in her spine, cutting nerves to a heightened sense. "_Shit_," she said under her breath, looking around in concern. If Evangeline found her, sent her back to that wretched bedroom, she knew she'd go insane, even more so than she was already.

But no one was coming, as far as she could tell, and so she kept walking toward the front door, eyes darting this way and that. "If you're trying to get outta 'ere, you're gonna need the key-code," said a voice behind her.

She tried not to shriek, spun around in surprise to see a boy standing in front of her. He was a bit taller than her, dark eyes and rosy skin. His hair was black, slicked back in a greaser kind of style. His face was somber, sharp angles like the rest of his body, a tattoo on his left shoulder peeking out from under the t-shirt he wore.

"You're the dame my uncle picked up, aren't ya'?" he asked. It was then that she recognized his accent as one from Brooklyn– explained the hairdo at least.

Lamely, she nodded in answer to his question. Dear Gods was he going to rat her out? She wouldn't, _couldn't_ go back to that room again. She was suffocating in there like a bird in a cage with closed windows, not just bars.

"Jesus," said the boy. "You can't be no older than me."

"And just how old are you?" she questioned, thinking maybe, just maybe she could still get out.

"Eighteen," he said.

"I'm twenty," she said. "Almost twenty-one." _Distractions, distractions, but if she really needed a key-code…_

"And my uncle's nearly thirty-two. Helluva age gap, if I say so." He looked her over from head-to-toe then, and she glared back at him forcefully. "I'm Wyatt by the way," he said. "Your name's Violet, right?"

"Yeah," she said, pondering him a moment. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "What are _you_ doin' here?"

She sighed. "No one will really give me that answer…"

For a moment, Wyatt looked almost sad, like he felt sorry for her. "I'm sorry, Violet. But my uncle wouldn't have ya here if it wasn't for a good reason. No one's gonna hurt ya or anything."

"I have a brother," Violet said softly, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's only fourteen and he's all alone without me."

"Don't your parents watch 'im?" Wyatt asked, tilting his head at her. Violet noticed he had to have a good foot of height on her, but that he still had baby fat in soft places. Just a boy– it reminded her of Danny and made her heart hurt even more at the thought of him all alone.

"No." Violet shook her head.

Wyatt scratched the back of his head. "Rough. My parents didn't take care of me either."

"I'm sorry," Violet said.

Nodding, Wyatt stepped a bit closer to her, hands back in pockets. "Look, Violet, I can't give ya the key code. I wish I could help ya, but I can't. And I don't want you to get in trouble, so how about ya let me take you back to your room. Hell, I'll give ya a tour as long as you promise not to run away on me."

"I think it's a bit late for not getting in trouble," Violet said.

Wyatt's brow creased. "What do ya mean by–"

He was interrupted by the sound of Evangeline frantically calling Violet's name, before suddenly the woman was at the top of the staircase in the entry foyer– how _had_ she gotten there?– looking down frantically at Violet. "There you are! Now listen here, Violet, you can't just go running like that it's not proper!"

"Proper?" Violet spat. "Not proper is locking me up in a room and–" She froze as Wyatt put a hand over her mouth.

"Come on, Aunt Ang," he said, barely noticing Violet struggling under his touch. "She's just scared and stuff. But she said she'd let me give her a tour of the place! Maybe it'll warm her up a little!"

"Did she now?" Evangeline asked, crossing her slender arms and tapping her foot crossly. "…Fine. But you need to get her something to eat too, Wyatt. Our little one here hasn't had anything all day."

"No problem," Wyatt said. "I was just comin' down for a nighttime snack myself."

"Okay," Evangeline said. "But I'm going to keep an eye on you two."

She walked away then, back up the stairs in graceful steps. Violet thought she looked almost ageless then, with the lean curves of her hips and unmarred exotic skin. Her hair flecked with silver shown under the light of the chandelier, and there was a kind of air about her… Shaking her head, Violet wondered how she could get so wrapped up in one woman's appearance. It was like Evangeline had sway over whomever she came into contact with, as she was so docile and authoritative and lovely.

"How about that tour?" Wyatt asked. He'd removed his hand from Violet's mouth, but she was still sore about it. First because he'd touched her without her permission, second because she was probably going to break out something awful because of the contact now.

Frowning, Violet looked toward the door once more. "How's she going to watch us?"

"She has her ways," Wyatt smirked. "But look, Violet. You're not gonna be going anywhere under our watch. The only way we're gonna be let you go is if my uncle says so, and he won't be home for another two weeks maybe. Until then, why don't you just treat this as a…forced vacation? They're gonna be lookin' after your little brother. If there is one redemptive quality to my uncle, it's that he never doesn't look afta people who deserve to be taken care of. Your brother'll be okay."

"Danny," Violet said.

"Come again?"

"My brother's name is Danny," she said, looking toward the door again. Two weeks. _Two weeks_. And then she could go home, go back to work. Fill out her student aid forms for the next semester. Help Danny with his chemistry homework so he wouldn't have to repeat the subject when school resumed. Get a new job that she didn't hate so much. She could get her shit together and make sure nothing _ever_ separated her and Danny again, and forget all about this place.

It'd be easy to convince the owner of this house that she wasn't the girl he was looking for. There was nothing spectacular about Violet, so it would be _so _easy.

And she could go home.

"Okay, give me the tour," she said, and began to count the seconds until freedom in her head.


	14. The Letter

**a/n**: hi guys; next chapter presented. i was thinking of putting the story on hiatus, but then i realized i'm too attached to the characters for that. i would really like to know what you think of everything so far though. thank you; and double thanks to everyone who's encouraged me to keep going with the story. you guys rock.

* * *

"Come on, Vi! It's just a snake."

"What's if it's poisonous?"

"It ain't."

"And how would _you_ know?"

"Didn't you hear the memo– I'm brilliant."

"Not according to your math homework I helped you with this morning."

"Eh, no one uses Algebra in the real world. Tell me I'm wrong on that one."

Sighing, Violet sat down in the grass and folded her legs Indian-style. "You're not. It's safe to say that once you get past the basics of college, it's about as applicable to life as the ability to put your foot behind your head."

"Hey," Wyatt warned, smirking as he held the garden snake's head between his fingers. "It's actually very nice when you find a dame that can do that."

"Like you would know," Violet snorted, shying away as Wyatt sat down across from her and set the snake in the grass between them.

"I get around," Wyatt insisted. He smoothed his hair back, as if a single strand of it could be out of place with how much gel he used to style it. Violet had walked in on him this morning as he was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, towel around his waist and rosy skin pink from soap. He'd used almost half of the gel bottle.

Rolling her eyes, Violet watched as the snake slithered around her bare foot, trying not to scream. She'd never been a fan of the creatures– they could be deceiving. So when it left her alone to move back over to the bushes at the side of the house that Wyatt had plucked it from, Violet breathed a sigh of relief.

She'd been here for one week now. Every day was agony when she was reminded of where she truly was, how Danny was home alone. But Wyatt had made things more bearable. He was a sweet kid; a bit mouthy and rebellious but still sweet. That first night, when he'd given her the tour, he'd chattered idly about music while Violet scoured over every nook and cranny of the house, still looking for a quick way out. Wyatt had even eaten French toast with her later in the night. He'd cracked lame jokes that made her smile for the first time since she had been kidnapped and dragged to this horrid place.

The next day she'd woken in the bedroom she figured would be her permanent residence while here, and had crawled to the door in hopes of finding it unlocked. It wasn't, of course. She'd been upset about it, of course, but had gone into the bathroom and found a toothbrush and toothpaste and had brushed her teeth and washed her face as was the usual morning routine. She'd checked the wardrobe and found all sorts of clothes and had almost barfed at the lavishness of it.

Just as she had been putting on the scruffiest shirt and pair of leggings she could find, there'd been a knock on the door and Wyatt had let himself in. He'd looked crisp and cheery, dragging her out of the room and down a new route– the opposite one Evangeline had taken when leading Violet to the kitchen the night before. This end of the hallway was full of more bedroom doors, a new set of stairs toward the end. Wyatt had taken her down the flight, stopping in a hall identical to the one above.

"This is where mine and my uncle's rooms are," he'd said, waving a hand frivolously as they passed room upon room. "You're all by yourself upstairs, except for if we've got guests. Sometimes they wanna be up there."

And so he'd taken her to a new flight of stairs, that cutoff at a landing, and he'd taken a right, and they'd ended up in another hall, and then somehow in the kitchen. To say Violet had been confused by the whole maze of sorts was an understatement. Was this made so she _couldn't_ get out of it? Even a week later, she still had her doubts. The halls all looked the same, and so did the rooms unoccupied. It made her head hurt to think about it.

After they'd ended up in the kitchen, Wyatt had made them breakfast– pancakes that she had picked at, not feeling too interested in eating now that she knew how complex this place would be to get out of. He'd made idle chitchat again, before Evangeline had joined them, sipping coffee and eating toast as she'd read the morning paper and told Wyatt not to slouch.

And then the two men had joined them. Violet learned the young blonde's name was Chad, and the tall brunet that had taken her was called Thaddeus. He'd grinned at her sheepishly, the cuts she'd clawed into his cheeks marring the action. Both men had tried to apologize for scaring her, but it fell on deaf ears as Violet shrunk into herself. She'd just wanted to go _home_.

When they had finished eating– well, more like when Wyatt had finished eating– he'd dragged Violet out of the kitchen and took her back into a room he'd shown her the night before. It was tall and filled with books to the ceiling. The library. Wyatt had told her this is where he met with a tutor for school; he'd been going online since getting expelled his junior year of high school for getting in a fight. That'd been last March, and because he'd gotten a bit behind Wyatt was working during the summer to get caught up before senior year approached.

"I'm already older than mosta my classmates," he'd said. "No way I ain't graduating on time."

Violet had sat around while he went to "school" favoring being in his company than that of Evangeline or Chad or…_Thaddeus_. Just the mention of the man's name made her shudder, even now.

After he'd gotten a decent amount of work done, Wyatt had taken Violet back to the kitchen where Evangeline was making lunch, then took Violet out onto the back lawn– after much protest with Evangeline who didn't trust Violet and had sent Chad out to eat with them– and they'd eaten and talked. Violet had found out she sort of liked Chad. He was happy and silly like Wyatt, which reminded her of Danny all over again. While it hurt to spend time with them, Violet couldn't stay away. Call her a masochist for wanting to be reminded of her baby brother all alone again and again, but she didn't care.

After lunch, Wyatt had dragged her back to the tutoring room, where he called his actual tutor (the woman only showed in person on Tuesdays and Thursdays) and talked to her while Violet found an old book and read. And then came dinner, where she'd had to sit in the dining room with Thaddeus, Evangeline, Chad, Wyatt, and some old woman named Myrtle who was too stuck in her own head to notice Violet sitting there. Everything had been silent, the sound of forks on plates– Violet's fork not included; she didn't want to eat– until Evangeline had broken it to tell Violet that everyone around the table lived there all year round.

"As stated before, there are other people in an out of the house all day, but we take permanent residence," she had said. "We're like a little family here, and you're welcome to be a part of it. Are there any questions you have for us, Violet?"

Paling, Violet had looked at her plate. "Can I go home?" she'd squeaked.

Again the room had been silent, until Thaddeus began cackling. "Oh, Gods. The boss is just going to _love_ you."

The rest of dinner Violet hadn't said anything, instead resisting the urge to cry. As if he'd somehow picked up on it, Wyatt had steered her out of the room after, Evangeline nodding when he'd shot her a secret kind of look. Wyatt had taken Violet back up the staircase she'd remembered from the night before, and had magically produced a key from his pocket, ushering them into the entertainment room and locking the door behind them.

He'd put on a movie and given Violet her space, and laughed at the stupid comedy on screen, and had asked Violet mundane questions like her favorite color, book, music, movies. Where she wanted to travel, what she was studying in college, what Danny was like– those questions had hurt– and how she felt toward the heat wave they were going through this summer.

Violet had answered all of his questions honestly, and then around ten o'clock Wyatt had taken her up to her room. While he'd been unlocking the door Violet had had half a mind to grab one of the vases from the tables in the hallway and hit him over the head and grab the key and run but she just…_couldn't_. He'd been so nice to her, and made her feel so calm even though she really shouldn't have been in this kind of situation.

So when Wyatt had told her goodnight, she'd said it right back and awkwardly accepted his small hug, and let him shut the door and lock her in. The moment the _click_ had sounded she was more than upset with herself, falling onto the bed and crying herself to sleep.

It had continued like that for the rest of the week. Breakfast with Wyatt and Evangeline, tutor with Wyatt, lunch with Wyatt and Chad outside, tutor with Wyatt (except Tuesdays and Thursdays when Evangeline had escorted Violet somewhere else and given her something to do like a crossword book or an equally dumb activity. Violet guessed it was because Evangeline didn't want Violet talking to the tutor and telling her to she'd been kidnapped and to call the cops. Everyone in the house had gone to great lengths to hide any ways of communication from Violet's sight, and she figured Evangeline didn't want the cutoff from the real world ruined.) and then she had dinner with everyone who lived in the house, silent and intimidated by Thaddeus, even when the man tried to joke with her and be sweet, and then a movie and small talk with Wyatt, and bed.

Today they'd changed things up though. It was Saturday and Wyatt wasn't much interested in tutor at the moment. Instead, he'd dragged Violet outside. It was nice today, not sweltering hot but just the right warmth that the perspiration on Violet's skin didn't make her feel sticky enough to want to go back inside in the air conditioning.

"Wanna play twenty questions?" Wyatt asked, picking at the strings fraying from a hole in his jeans.

Violet groaned. "There couldn't be a question in the world you haven't already asked me, Wyatt. For God's sake, you already know what brand of underwear I buy! What else could you need to find out?"

Wyatt smirked. "You a virgin?"

Cheeks heating, she looked at the ground. Why would he ask _that_ of all things? Violet wasn't really one to talk about such intimate details with anyone but Albany. Especially a _boy_. That felt kind of weird, and her skin grew redder and redder with each passing moment as Wyatt stared at her, waiting for an answer.

"Why's it matter?" she finally settled on asking, picking at a few blades of grass.

"I _knew_ it!" Wyatt laughed, reaching out to playfully push her shoulder. At first Violet had been weary of his friendly touches, but as the days dragged on she'd become more used to him. Sometimes she wondered if it was a form of Stockholm's Syndrome, but then she'd catch a glimpse of the real world on the nightly news and still wanted to go home more than anything. She'd leave Wyatt and all his comfort in a heartbeat if it meant getting out of this place. "God, Vi! But you're so _old_!"

"Shut up," Violet said. "You can't harass someone for never having had sex, just like you can't harass them for having a lot of sex."

"I'd never harass someone for having a lot of sex," Wyatt smiled. "Especially a lady. I'd jump at the opening she gave me. But never having sex, gosh Vi, how do you not just explode?"

"That's a societal double-standard," Violet snapped.

"Aw, stop with the feminism for a moment Vi; I'm just teasing you."

"There can never be too much feminism in the world," came a voice from the patio a ways behind them. Both Wyatt and Violet turned their heads to see Evangeline walking their way, tray in her hand stacked with lemonade and fresh baked peanut butter cookies. Violet had mentioned in a passing moment they were her favorite, and so Evangeline baked them every day in an attempt to get Violet to eat more than the measly portions she contained herself to.

"Exactly," Violet said, tucking her knees into her chest. Evangeline had begun to grow on her; even if the woman was out of her mind, she was still very sweet and wise. A kind of mother figure that Violet had not had for a very long time.

Evangeline set the tray down next to Wyatt and smiled. "Always have to keep the men in this house on their toes about it, little one," she winked, before turning and going back to the house.

Violet stared after her, caught in the color of Evangeline's smoky maxi dress. The woman never wore shoes with anything, as far as Violet had noticed. Instead she kept golden bangles around her ankles and that was the only footwear she wore.

"How long has Evangeline worked for you uncle?" Violet asked, looking back to Wyatt who was hungrily scarfing cookies like they hadn't just had breakfast an hour ago.

Shrugging, he spoke through a full mouth. "Longer than I've been here."

As she'd learned through her days spent with him, Wyatt's uncle had brought Wyatt to live here when he was twelve. His parents hadn't been the best of caretakers, and Wyatt had grown up being responsible for himself. Wyatt's uncle– Mr. Fairgrave as the rest of the house referred to him– wasn't actually his uncle, but an old friend of his father's. Wyatt hadn't really known about Mr. Fairgrave until the man had come to Wyatt's parents' house one night yelling about how it wasn't proper to leave a kid on his own for weeks upon end. When Wyatt's parents had said they'd just send him off to boarding school, Mr. Fairgrave had been even angrier.

"His parents stuck 'im in the damned places all through his childhood," Wyatt had explained. "Uncle F. doesn't have a fondness toward 'em."

And so he'd told Wyatt's parents he'd take Wyatt in. Which he did, and had sent Wyatt to a nice school and gave him everything he needed, including someone who cared about him. "He kind of sucks with expressing emotion," Wyatt had said. "But, he lets me talk to him when I'm confused about stuff, and gets really pissed if I do something that could fuck me up, so I kind of know he cares." Plus Wyatt had the support of Evangeline, Thaddeus, and later, Chad too. Myrtle was her own brand of family, but that was another story.

And when Wyatt got picked on at school by rich kids who knew he was from a poor background, Mr. Fairgrave had told him to fight back. "I know he meant with words, or by ignoring them or somethin'," Wyatt had shrugged. "But I kinda just punched their teeth in instead." When he'd gotten expelled, Mr. Fairgrave had been upset, but he'd still told Wyatt he was glad that the kid didn't just bow down to bullshit like most.

So now here Wyatt was, happy with how he lived. Even if this situation with Violet was completely insane, she was happy that Wyatt was happy. He was a good kid. And she could hardly blame him for accepting the fact she was being held here against her will. It was obvious how much he idolized his uncle; no way he could see the guy doing bad. He easily believed the story Violet was here because she could help Mr. Fairgrave save people, or whatever insane explanation the man had come up with. And every time Violet had tried to get Wyatt to question it, he'd just reminded her absolutely no harm had come to her yet, and that Danny was safe, and that he was getting everything he needed, and so was she.

"Aunt Ang is my uncle's best friend, you could say," Wyatt said, snapping Violet from her own thoughts. "More like his conscious, if ya ask me. He never makes decisions about stuff without consulting her first."

"So wait, she _told_ him to kidnap me?" Violet asked, mouth setting in a line.

"No," Wyatt snorted as if the notion were ridiculous. "Just agreed to the idea."

Violet threw her head back and sighed, wishing a meteor would just fall from the sky and put her out of her misery. Being dramatic, she fell onto her back and spread her arms out at her side, staring at the sky. It was bluer than blue, puffs of clouds covering the sun in and out of view. She felt warmth next to her suddenly, realizing it was Wyatt. The first night on the couch while they'd watched movies, he'd given her the space she needed, but over the days he'd moved closer and closer. By now it was routine he had his arm around her as the shared a bowl of popcorn in their laps, laughing or cringing at whatever was on the television. She'd quickly realized Wyatt expressed affection through touch.

"That one kinda looks like a rabbit," Wyatt said, pointing to a cloud above them.

"They all look like rabbits," Violet said, frowning. "Danny always said that."

For a moment, both she and Wyatt didn't say anything. Any time she brought up Danny without being asked to, the air always fell thick. It was the elephant in the room– the real reminder that Violet wasn't here for some friendly little stay. That she had a life outside of this house, someone she needed to take care of. And while it was all fine and dandy for her and Wyatt to pretend like they were friends and things were okay, they both knew it was a lie.

She didn't want to be here, and he knew she'd book it the moment she could.

"You're waiting for my uncle to get home, aren't ya?" Wyatt finally asked, turning on his side to face her.

"What good will it do?" Violet lied.

"You're gonna tell him to let you go, that you're not who he's lookin' for."

"And just who _is_ he looking for?" she asked, tone turning sour. "It's all so, so _fucking_ stupid, Wyatt. You can't really believe your uncle wants me here for a peace treaty or something. I'm from Boston, for God's sake. I don't have a penny to my name, no influence over anyone. Practically no one even knows I exist. You all spiel about how he's going to use me to _help_ people, but _what_ people?"

"I can't tell you," Wyatt said, looking sad at the prospect. He always looked sad when this topic came up; always pitying her. "You just have to wait until he's home next week."

Violet ground her teeth together, made a noise of anger and stood up, brushing off the back of her shorts and stomping toward the house. "I am about sick of this. I'm tired of being lied to. You people _kidnapped_ me and left my little brother all alone. The least you could do is tell me _why_."

She slammed the door she'd taken into the house behind her. It didn't lead to the kitchen, but rather a random room in the house decorated much like a living room from the nineteenth century; sometimes her and Wyatt would come in here during his study breaks and play scrabble or checkers. Thaddeus was sitting on one of the settees in the room, reading a paper and doing a poor job of disguising the fact he'd been keeping an eye on Violet in case she tried to run. To say her first night here had been the last escape attempt would be a lie; even if she never admitted she was trying to run when being caught, it didn't mean that was the truth.

"Something wrong, Violet?" Thaddeus asked, standing from his seat and setting the paper down.

"Leave me alone," Violet said, finding herself in the entry foyer after walking through a door in the front right corner of the room.

Of course, Thaddeus followed after her, and she heard Wyatt coming inside calling her name. She didn't stop, taking the steps in the foyer up to the next level, and finding the set of stairs that had no locked door keeping her from the hall that housed her bedroom. She just wanted to shut herself inside and cry. God, how much crying had she done since coming here? It was so impossible to tell.

"Listen, Violet," Thaddeus said, on her heels before she could make it to the third floor. "I know Wyatt can get pretty annoying after a while, but–"

"It's not him."

"Then what is it here, queeny? I'm kind of confused."

"It's everything!" Violet shouted, turning around to face Thaddeus and throwing her hands up exasperatedly.

Thaddeus tilted his head at her, raising an eyebrow in question. Since being brought here, Violet had barely said two words to the man, let alone _yelled_ at him. Logically, she knew she was terrified of him. There was still a fading cut on her forehead from their first encounter. But right now she was too upset to really care. Let him hurt her again. It didn't matter.

"You miss your brother," Thaddeus said after a moment, looking Violet over and frowning. Did he look…_regretful_? "Listen, I'm not supposed to let you, but… You can write him a letter, okay?"

Violet's eyes lit up.

"_If_ you make sure to keep with the idea you ran off for a bit. I'm gonna read over the sucker, so don't try any funny business, got it?"

"Yes," Violet said eagerly. "Yes, yes, okay."

Giving her a scrutinizing look, Thaddeus finally nodded before directing her down the hall, to a door that looked just like all the others. He unlocked it, opening the door with a flourish and letting Violet inside. "This is the boss's office," he said. "Technically you aren't supposed to go in here, but that means no one will come snooping. Like the kid calling your name downstairs."

"He means well," Violet mumbled, stepping into the room.

"Yeah, he always does. But he's kind of stupid, so it doesn't really help." Curling his mouth, he made a _tsk_ing sound with his cheeks.

Before he could close the door on her, Violet quickly asked, "Do you know what happened to my necklace?"

"Necklace?"

"It was gold, with a ring on it. It's been missing since I got here."

"Sorry queeny," he said, shaking his head. "Have no idea what you're talking about." With that, he began to shut Violet in. "Just don't break anything in here, or it'll be both our asses, aye queeny."

As soon as the lock _click_ed back into place, Violet let herself look around the room with wide eyes. It was grand like all the others, but this one felt _different_. There was a fireplace on the east wall, a small collection of leather seats wrapped around it. On the west wall there were maps upon maps with string connecting places in haphazard lines, and in the middle of the room was a very large desk, cases of books behind it. But the most interesting aspect was that in the northeast corner of the room was a small set of steps, leading down into a circular cove filled with plants and flowers of all kinds.

Dazedly, Violet moved to the sight and stepped down into the room. She noticed then that the walls were nothing but glass, as was the ceiling. A greenhouse within the house. She looked out and saw nothing but forest, eyes taking in the sight of how broad the land surrounding this house was. Oh God, even if she did get out of here, she had no way of finding help in such a densely wooded place.

Sighing, she let her eyes take in the sights of the plants and flowers. They were all exotic, all things not native to America, and certainly not native to the east coast. She touched the petals of a narcissus flower. She'd only seen these in nurseries, and even then, once planted they only lasted a few weeks before wilting under the sun. Her breath caught when she realized how heavenly the flowers smelt; she'd always thought they were cloyingly sweet, but now she realized just how seductive the scent was.

With a shake of her head, she reminded herself of the task at hand. Moving back to the desk in the room, she sat in the large chair behind it, looking at the papers and pens scattered all over the desktop. They looked like contracts, and business print offs Violet didn't have the slightest idea about. But one thing did intrigue her– a manila folder with her name on it.

Feeling a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, she picked up the folder and flipped it open. Inside was everything someone would ever need to know about her. From a copy of her birth certificate, to her medical records, school records, work records, even information about every misdemeanor ticket she'd received for jaywalking. It was enough to make her chest hurt, and she threw the folder onto the desk. It had information about her father's death in it; about Danny and her mother and _oh God_. She knew that before they'd kidnapped her, the people here had to have watched her. How else would they have known when to come, who they'd have to deal with, how to make it look like she'd simply left?

But to know that this Mr. Fairgrave had been so interested in her as to have a _file_.

If she wasn't so angry, she thought she'd vomit. Her eyes squeezed shut, opened. Deep breaths were all she could manage, and then…

Violet dove for the phone on the desk before she could slow herself, taking it from the receiver and holding it to her ear. For a moment there was static, and then a familiar voice asked, "Hello?"

Groaning, Violet slammed the phone back on the receiver. Of course it wouldn't be as simple as an outward call. She'd have to be forwarded by Evangeline first. Slamming her head against the desk a few times, Violet finally got herself together enough to find a blank sheet of paper and a pen. But then it was the question of what to write, how to explain things to Danny without really _explaining_ them.

In the end she settled for something to the point.

_Danny,_

_ I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left. I didn't want to, but I __had__ to. And I'm sorry. I love you more than anything. I want you to be okay. Everything you need is there for you. Except me. And I'm sorry. I miss you so much; I want to come home. I'm sorry that I can't right now. Please, be careful. Take care of yourself. Do your homework. Call Aunt Karen, okay? Get her to come and stay for a while. Be safe._

_I love you, I'm sorry,_

_Violet._

After she was done, all Violet could do was stare at the paper for a while. It wasn't until after Thaddeus came in to get her for lunch she realized she'd been silently crying. _Again?_ she thought to herself tiredly. How was it even possible she had tears left at this point? Wiping them away with the back of her jacket sleeve, she gave Thaddeus the letter for proofing, finding her way to the kitchen on her own.

"Vi!" Wyatt said when she finally stumbled in, running over to wrap her in a tight hug. It stole the breath from her lungs. "I'm so sorry Violet! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean– you know I'd tell you everything if I could. I wanna, but you won't believe me if I do, and I mean, just–"

"Wyatt," Evangeline snapped from where she was making a salad at the kitchen island. "Put the poor girl down before you suffocate her."

"Right, sorry," Wyatt said, setting Violet on her feet again. "I really am sorry, Vi."

"I know," Violet said, giving him a timid smile. "It's…it's okay."

"Yeah?" Wyatt asked.

Violet glanced to the kitchen door, just in time to see Thaddeus and Chad walk in together. The older of the two men nodded to her– he'd send the letter as it was. A sense of relief flooded Violet's chest. Even if she could get that one little thing to Danny, to let him know she hadn't wanted to leave him, that she loved him, that she wanted to come home, was enough to ease her, if only for now.

She took a seat at the kitchen table, grabbing a roll from the bread basket there, taking a hearty bite. "Yeah," she told Wyatt. "It's okay."


	15. The Light of the Moon

**a/n**: I just wanted to say thank you again to all of you who encouraged me to keep going with the story. Your support is just so wonderful and I can't thank you enough. Also, I wanted to let everyone know I have a "blueprint" of Logan's house if anyone is confused with the layout. I can post it, if anyone wants?

* * *

The only thing worse than being stuck with the reincarnates of the Olympians for a week and a half, was being stuck with the reincarnates of the Olympians for a week and a half when they were arguing.

"I say we look for Hermes next!"

"No, we need to look for Ares!"

"But what about Persephone?!"

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose irately; head downcast toward the floor as he sat rigidly in one of the chairs of John's living room. It took everything in him not to start yelling at all of his siblings to just _shut up_. This had been going on since the first night– everyone arguing over which God they wanted to try and find when it was their turn. Fawn had demanded to go first, of course. Her try had been a bust, as Logan knew it would be. She'd been sobbing endlessly since then, saying there was no way Persephone would choose the company of another God over her own mother's.

_She's partially right_, Logan couldn't help but think to himself as he grabbed his glass of scotch off the end table next to the chair he sat in, taking a heavy drink from it. Technically, Violet hadn't chosen to share his company. She'd been forced to. Although, he thought that if Violet were have to choose between him and Fawn, the girl would pick him hands down. To say Fawn had grown even crazier over the years was a bit of an understatement.

Sighing, Logan looked to Charlotte who was sitting in the chair next to his. She shrugged her small shoulders, ringlets of curls falling messily around her face. It was early in the morning, and John had burst in rousing everyone from sleep, claiming Edgar had made a break-through and they'd managed to find Janus, as Edgar had not been focusing on anyone in particular during his try with the spell, meaning it to be more fruitful in its results.

Logan was…glad– yes; that was the right word– to know Janus' incarnation had been found. The God had been one of the few left that had helped Hades and the others seal the Titans away, sacrificing the last of their divinity and their lives, which lead to their cycles of mortal lifetime. Though in this life, Janus had felt he was made to be a woman, and so his– _her_, Logan corrected himself– name had gone from Tyler to Janet. Logan found that a bit ironic, choosing a name so similar to her one as a God. Memories had the subtlest ways of reappearing.

"Silence!" John bellowed to the room, breaking Logan of his thoughts. "It is Hades' turn today, and he shall choose if he wants to find anyone specific or let the spirits pick for him."

"Some spirits; _useless_," Fawn mumbled, and John shot her a warning glance.

"Hades," John said, nodding Logan forward. "Please, state your choice."

For a moment, Logan remained silent. Everyone in the room was drained, tired. In less than two weeks they all looked as if they'd aged a good five years. Sharing divinity was as tiring as using it. And the more specific one made the spell, the more power it took to work. But Logan felt fine; not _good_ exactly, but fine. Unlike his siblings, he never used his power frivolously, and so much still lay dormant within him. And he'd been wanting to find a specific ally for years and years– he'd promised her son that he would keep her safe if he ever found her many lives ago.

"I wish to look for Ino," Logan said sternly.

Helen snorted. "Surely, you're kidding. That is a waste. The woman would have useless power."

"Oh, shut up, Helen," Charlotte said from behind Logan, shocking everyone. "This is our brother's choice, not yours."

"Just because you've found Tyche does not give you authority over me, Hestia!" Helen shouted, getting up into the shorter woman's face. "I am still the queen!"

"And I am still the oldest," Charlotte said, giving Helen a blank stare. "I know you are very upset we could not find one of your children, Helen. But do not take it out on our brother."

Everyone in the room was silent. And then, visibly, Helen deflated, backing away from Charlotte and bowing her head in shame. Everyone had always painted Hera as a wicked Goddess– in many ways she had been– but the truth of the matter was that she was simply a lonely, neglected woman. While her husband had been off having countless affairs, she'd tried to cure her loneliness with the company of her children. Without them, her lives had been meaningless. Hades had always had a soft spot for his baby sister, and by default Logan did for Helen. He felt no anger toward her outburst, only pity.

"I am sorry, Helen," he said after a moment. "I made a promise to her son. I have to honor it now that the time has come."

"I understand," Helen said softly, sitting down next to Charlotte who was rubbing at the woman's back with affection. "I apologize."

Logan nodded in acceptance, stepping forward into the circle that had been drawn with sand from the base of Olympus. In the middle was a stone altar, carved with the ancient words of their people. Symbols of magic littered the altar, such as herbs and the blood of Hecate's beloved black dogs. Taking a deep breath, Logan lifted the knife from where it sat upon the altar, slitting open his palm. It didn't hurt, but he still winced as the blood spilled into the bowl below his hand. Hecate's words rang in his head: _this is not your domain; this is not your place…_

But he took the sea water a servant had offered him anyways, and added it to his blood, as well as a golden ring to represent the Goddess's once mortal life she'd lost to her husband. Taking a deep breath, he murmured the words, a steady cadence as his siblings all spread their palms toward him, glowing with light. The world around Logan steadily began to go up in dark smoke, before it shifted and he was in a realm of water, light reflecting onto him from the surface.

For a moment he thought he may drown, but then he realized he didn't need to breathe at all. _Magic_, he thought sardonically, shaking his head.

In the distance, there was a ripple of smoke in the water. Slowly, Logan began to swim toward it, his movements feeling sluggish and draining. As soon as he reached the smoke, he let his hand drift to it. And then there was a sharp pain in his side at the touch of the smoke to his skin.

_No!_ screamed a female voice inside his head. _You cannot have her._

Suddenly, he needed to breathe again, his lungs screaming for air. Logan began to struggle against an invisible current, pulling him away from the smoke as he tried to fight to swim to the surface of the water, black spots dancing in his vision.

Just as he could no longer fight the urge to gasp for breath and water began to fill his lungs, Logan was flung onto the floor of John's living room, a wave of salt water washing over him. He sputtered and coughed, trying to breathe through the burn in his throat. Charlotte was at his side now, moving him into a sitting position and clapping him on the back.

"No luck, I assume?" she asked softly.

Logan shook his head, droplets of water splashing from his hair. John was looking at him with a mix of humor and disappointment, and if he'd been able to breathe properly, Logan would have stood and hit the man. As it was, he sat in the puddle he'd washed back in, letting Charlotte lift him to his feet with effort. His head was killing him.

"Gods," Fawn said nonchalantly from where she was now sitting in an armchair by the fireplace. "That's worse than the weeds I woke up in."

When she'd tried to find Persephone, Fawn had been ejected from the spell by a backlash of vines, falling on the floor practically right where Logan was with weeds tangled in her hair, and vines wrapped around her limbs. There were also little thorn ridden flowers pricking at her skin, but those had been easy to remove whereas a servant had had to cut the vines away with hedge clippers.

Logan ran a hand down his face, dripping onto the rug as he moved to sit back in the same chair he had before the spell. "She's with a woman," Logan said after a moment, clearing his throat. "She said that I '_cannot have her_' whatever that is supposed to mean."

Fawn shrugged; at least Hecate had been nice enough to tell the woman that Persephone was '_in good hands, my Lady_' whereas Logan had been screamed at and hit, or something. Speaking of which… He lifted up his shirt, finding three parallel scratches down his side and part of his back. Charlotte gasped from where she had sat down on the arm of the chair he was in, reaching out to trace the marks with her fingers.

"Gods," Helen said, putting a hand to her mouth. "I do not think Ino is any longer on our side; the Goddess she is with would not have been so violent if she were."

John nodded in acquisition to his wife. "You should get those treated, Hades. They may become infected; we do not know which deity we are dealing with, after all."

Logan sighed as he stood. "I'll have Molly look at them." The young Fate was training to be a CNA in high school, and often asked if she could assist in anything that constituted as medical care. Plus, Logan wanted to speak with her about something privately. "Better clean up the water before your floors rot."

"An '_I'm sorry for the mess_' would have sufficed," John said irately, but Logan simply turned and walked from the room without comment.

He made his way through the foyer and up the stairs, apologizing to the servant who looked at the water trail he left with tired eyes and sighed. It was the woman's job to clean up after the people staying in the house, but Logan felt the wet mess he was making was a bit much outside of the spectrum of the usual muddles the woman needed to attend to.

Molly was staying on the second floor next to Alice and Tamara. She was a quiet girl, and Logan often caught her reading in the kitchen, eating some kind of vegan snack he thought of more as compost instead of food.

Knocking on the door, he waited until Molly answered and smiled up at him. But as she sized him up, Molly's grin quickly turned to a look of confusion. "Why are you, like, wet?"

Logan shrugged. "Why is magic such a complicated thing?"

Molly said nothing to this, instead opening the door. She was a seer of the future after all; Logan didn't have to ask for her to know he wanted to come inside. Shutting the door behind them, Molly pointed for Logan to sit in the chair at the desk in the room, which he did without word.

"What's wrong?"

Logan lifted up his shirt to show Molly the claw marks running down his side. The young girl gasped, quickly going to the suitcase she had sitting on the bench at the end of her bed and producing a certified first aid kit from it, moving back over to Logan quickly and beginning to work on the cuts. She'd done the same thing for Fawn with the thorn wounds that the backlash of her spell had caused. And she'd treated all of the cuts on the hands of those who had cast the spells, where they'd had to slash their palm to use blood magic.

As if reading his thoughts, Molly said, "I'll treat your palm after this, okies?" At this point, she was using scissors to cut away his wet clothes. So much for this shirt then.

Nodding, Logan stared over her red head, trying to form the right way to ask his question of her. He knew the Fates could not intervene in the natural course of life, but they could answer questions. "Molly…is this really going to work– keeping her hidden from Fawn?"

Like Tamara, both Molly and Alice had picked up on the fact Logan had hold of Violet. They were naïve, but not stupid. And no one was immune to the touch of the Fates, even the man that had let them reside in his domain when he'd been a God.

"For like, a time," Molly answered vaguely, closing his wounds with butterfly bandages. "You know I can't give you the full four-one-one, Logan." Unlike Tamara, she called him by his real name instead of _Hades_. "Totes wish I could, but I can't."

"I know," Logan said, handing his palm to her as she shyly reached for it. She put disinfectant on the cut; it stung but he didn't flinch. "I'm just afraid they're going to think it's for the wrong reasons."

"What? That you're working with the lame-os on the Titan dudes' side? Nah, you just gotta explain your intentions y'know? Like, I mean, you wanna be stronger and since you used to be all la-de-da-lovey-stuff bonded with her, she's the best bet! Plus, it's _sooo_ romantic."

Logan raised an eyebrow at her, and Molly blushed, wrapping his hand with gauze and medical tape. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing romantic about kidnapping a girl for purely power fueled reasons. It was practical, yes. But not romantic. Violet was just a girl, for Gods' sake. Well, a _woman_, but she was still entirely young and inexperienced. Logan wouldn't take advantage of her just because he found her puzzling and strangely attractive, and wouldn't mind beddings her. He had morals, after all. But if Violet were to want to share his bed… Well, he wouldn't object.

"All done!" Molly said after a moment. "I'd go change if I were you. Waterlogged isn't really your, like, style."

Logan chuckled at her. "Thank you, Molly."

"No problem," she said, blushing again.

Logan left her then, feeling as if his question had not been resolved at all. He wasn't doing this to intentionally hurt Fawn, even if their history together had never been a pleasant one. And he wasn't doing this because he wanted to fight the war on his own; he would stand by his siblings as he always had, even if he didn't much like them. No, he was doing this purely because he would not, _could_ not let Kronus have the upper hand on him. He would be stronger than his father, and he would slay him with finality, as he'd never been able to do before. As Kronus himself had done to Ouranos, Logan would end his father for good. No more cages; only death without mercy.

Sighing, Logan let himself into the bedroom he'd been given for the stay, stripping of his cut and wet clothes and feeling more drained than he had in years. One look in the bathroom mirror and he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin. Like the others he looked aged five years in less than two weeks. He wasn't old, but he felt it. He felt older than time. And maybe, theoretically, he was. But not in this life. In this life he was barely thirty-two and already he felt seventy.

A hot shower was the only thing he could do to calm down, standing under the water and taking deep breaths. This water at least didn't smell of smoke and salt and danger. It was crisp and filtered and warm, not stabbing ice into his skin. It washed off the bandages on his side, but Logan didn't much care. He replaced the gauze on his hand, but that was all the effort he put towards the wounds.

After, he wrapped his waist in a towel and went into the bedroom, wet hair dripping onto his neck. He was in the process of grabbing new clothes to put on when a female voice said from behind him, "You look like shit, Logan."

He turned to find a woman with midnight skin and hair as white as the moon sitting on the edge of the bed. Her legs were as long as moonbeams, her curves as fluid as tides. Her eyes shone with the light of the moon, and when she pulled back her lips to smile at him, her teeth were bright as stars. To say this woman was beautiful and wholly seductive was the biggest understatement one could give.

"Hello, Selene," Logan said, letting his towel drop and putting on a pair of boxers without any kind of hesitation. She'd seen him naked a million times before. "How did you get in undetected?"

Selene smirked, sitting back farther on the bed and inspecting her finely manicured nails. "Moonlight forever slips in _undetected_, Logan," she said in that crisp Nigerian accent of hers. "I would think you'd know that by now, with all the times I've come to your bed without your notice."

"Oh, I noticed," he smirked, pulling on a t-shirt that stuck to his damp skin. "But I assume this meeting is more for business and less for pleasure this time."

Sighing, Selene let her hand sweep over the bedspread languidly. "Unfortunately so."

"What does your brother want this time?"

"No involvement."

"No worries," Logan said, not even questioning how she knew of the war. He'd learned long ago Selene wasn't someone you overly examined.

"But you have found a spell to identify us," said Selene, looking at him wearily. "Will you not try to bring us into this war with it?"

` "Yeah, we found a spell," Logan said, reaching into his bag for a pair of jeans. "But you have nothing to worry about. You're associated with your brother, so we can't find you two. Once Gods have paired off, the spell doesn't any longer work. We can't find you, so we can't ask for your help; not that you would give it anyways."

"True," Selene said, standing and coming to rest beside Logan, hanging off his arm as he tried to buckle his jeans. "Well, then I guess there's no need to make deals then. So I guess I'd rather the meeting turned to pleasure now…"

Chuckling, Logan shook her off. "Sorry, Selene. I'm expected down at dinner soon. Wouldn't want them to come knocking and find you here."

"Oh, but all I need is ten minutes," she purred, running her hand down his chest and toward the top of his jeans.

He caught her hand. "Not now, Selene."

"Boo, you're no fun," she said, pouting out her lower lip. "I guess you'll just have to live without me for now, then."

"I won't see you soon?" Logan said with false disappointment.

Selene smirked. "My brother and I prefer to keep low in times of war. Considering you're a part of this ignorant debacle, I won't be around for a while."

"Such a pity," Logan said sarcastically.

"Oh, you'll miss me in your bed," Selene said, walking toward the window and pushing the panes open.

"Wait," Logan said before she could leave. "Who else is going neutral for this?"

"A few," Selene said vaguely. "But if Fate comes to call, we won't be on your side, _Hades_."

"And why's that?" Logan asked, lips turning into a hard line.

Laughing, Selene lifted one long, toned leg over the windowsill and then the other. "Because you're going to lose, dear Logan. I thought that was obvious." With a final smirk, she dropped from the window.

Logan knew it was useless to go after her and find out exactly what she meant; knowing Selene, the woman had already disappeared into the forming shadows of the night. It was a talent of hers famous throughout the centuries. No one ever found the woman unless she wanted to be found. And when she did, it usually meant she wanted something. The way of the moon was languid, but the way of the night in her called for mischief. But never fight. The moon, like the sun, looked out for its own.

Shaking off her lingering charm, Logan slipped on a pair of shoes and took his cell phone from where it sat on the nightstand, thankful it hadn't been lost in the tidal wave of a spell. He dialed the familiar number, and waited until Hecate picked up before saying, "I want the wards on the house checked again."

"Whatever for, my Lord?"

"Selene's been snooping around, and wherever she is Helios isn't far behind. I don't want them finding Violet and using her for leverage. Or Wyatt. Keep them away from him at all costs."

"Do you really think they'd use them like that?" Hecate asked.

"Never underestimate those two," Logan said, looking out his window toward the moon beginning to appear in the sky. "They'd do anything if they thought it would save their own skin."

"I understand, my Lord," Hecate said.

"Thanks."

"Anything you wish, Logan."

Logan ended the call and put his phone back on the nightstand, taking a deep breath before he left the room for dinner, off to face another hour with the torture of his siblings' company.

* * *

Hecate set the phone into the receiver, leaving her office to go and sit on the porch outside of the settee room. There was a swinging bench hanging out there, perfect to view the pool where Wyatt was trying to coax Violet into jumping in. The young woman was shaking her head, shouting at him that the water was too cold.

Finally, Wyatt simply got out of the pool and chased after Violet, managing to grab her around her declining waist and tossing her into the pool with him. The two emerged sputtering and laughing, Chad rolling his eyes from where he laid out on a raft floating on the opposite end of the pool, there to keep watch and make sure Violet didn't try and slip away as she nearly always did without surveillance.

"The boss ain't gonna like it," said a strong voice from beside the swing Hecate sat on.

"I know," she sighed. "I didn't predict they'd grow so close."

"Or that Wyatt would fall in love with the girl."

"He's too young for such a thing."

Thaddeus smirked, giving Hecate an expectant sort of look. "Tell him that."

Frowning, Hecate looked back to where Violet was floating on the surface of the pool, Wyatt treading water next to her and smiling as if she were the sun. "Gods," Hecate said sadly. "If I had known…"

"Doesn't matter," Thaddeus said. "Logan and her can fight it all they want, but they're going to fall for each other when he gets back eventually. It's in their nature."

"Perhaps," Hecate said, noticing Violet smiling at Wyatt nearly the same way he smiled at her. "Or maybe history will change."


	16. The Blood at Altar

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Violet ducked behind one of the arches of the living room, slinking down to sit on the floor. Her breathing was harsh and she felt like she was going to faint. Two weeks of eating as little as possible had taken its toll on her. At least at home she had the privacy to eat until she made herself sick. Sometimes Wyatt would have her eat more than she was comfortable with, but this morning he'd slept in and skipped breakfast, meaning she had too, instead taking the opportunity to walk the halls aimlessly.

Evangeline had come to trust her enough that the lock on the door of Violet's room was only used during the night. She had free run of the house during the day, but the key codes required to go outside were still kept from her. At one point she'd almost been able to follow Chad outside, but the door had shut before she could wedge her foot into it and make her way out without Chad seeing her.

Despite her outwardly friendly behavior, escape was still the first thing on Violet's mind. She made nice with everyone, especially Wyatt, but she'd still leave in a heartbeat if she could. Wyatt had turned into Danny's replacement in a way, but Violet couldn't stay with him. Her little brother was still home, still alone. And by now it was August. Danny would start school in three weeks and Violet needed more than anything to be there. He'd be a sophomore this year and that meant harder classes, more homework. She wasn't going to let him have to repeat a subject in summer school again next year.

If she was even alive next year.

Despite all the reassurance and welcome of her kidnappers, Violet still had her doubts. Wyatt and Evangeline and Chad were harmless, that much was for sure. Myrtle was too off her rocker to even understand the situation. But Thaddeus, no matter how much his sarcastic and care-free attitude had grown on Violet, still frightened her. Not to mention this infamous Mr. Fairgrave. Who was to say he wasn't a mass murderer and all of the rooms off limit to Violet in the house weren't piled with the remains of his past victims?

Didn't matter; she didn't much plan to stick around long enough to find out. More and more recently Wyatt had been talking to her about taking a trip into the closest town. Spending every waking day together had meant he began to trust her more and more. Violet felt stick to her stomach at the thought she'd betray the boy and leave if the situation allowed. He really was so sweet and well intentioned, and, at this point, her best friend. She and Albany had always been close, but Wyatt seemed to understand things better than Albany ever could. It'd taken Violet years to admit to self-harm with Albany, but it'd only taken Wyatt three days to crack her on the subject. And like her, he had scars too.

And so she'd used their relationship to get everyone in the house to trust her. Wyatt said good, encouraging things and they listened. Chad no longer ate lunch with the two out back, and Evangeline rarely hovered anymore. It was cruel, but Violet couldn't help but use Wyatt. She genuinely did enjoy his company and had come to care for him as she did with Danny, but he _wasn't_ Danny. He wasn't blood, and blood meant something to Violet. Not just in the way it seeped from the wounds on her skin, but in the way that family was all she'd ever known.

Sighing, Violet poked her head around the pillar and then snapped it back into place when she saw Wyatt move past the living room door. Even though he was eighteen, Wyatt was still a kid in so many ways. Playing hide and seek at the age of twenty had seemed a bit obtuse to Violet, but Wyatt had insisted it'd be a good way to take her mind off dwelling on the approaching date of Danny going back to school.

Right now, she was double-thinking the idea to play for purely selfish reasons. She'd forgotten how competitive she could become, heart racing and hands shaking at the idea of being caught. Chad was playing with them– even at twenty-two he had about the same maturity level as Wyatt– and Violet hoped that he'd be found first so she wouldn't have to be it.

Memories of playing hide and seek with Albany and Danny washed over her. Dad had played with them a lot, but he'd always been found quite easily due to the fact he didn't have the child-sized ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the house everyone else did. Mom would always sit in the kitchen baking something for when the game was over and everyone was hungry. Violet had always won; she was only ever it when everyone else had gone and she volunteered to be the one who had to find everyone. It'd been the same in tag– she'd always been fast.

"Violet!" Wyatt called from somewhere in the dining room, which connected to the living room from the side. Way too close for comfort.

Taking a deep breath, Violet ducked out the front arch of the living room into the hall, taking the curve that lead to the library and tip-toeing inside quietly. She moved to the back of the library and sat down behind one of the many shelves, pressing up against the wall. No one usually came back in this part of it; the books were all older than dirt and practically fell apart when you touched them. Even now as Violet set her hands back against the shelf she felt a bit antsy she'd break something.

The telltale _snap_ alerted her that in fact, she had. But then she was falling backward. Christ, had she broken the entire _case_? Her head hit concrete, as well as her back. She gasped on impact, rolling onto her side and standing. The bookcase swung shut in front of her, and everything was dark.

"What the fuck?" she asked, reaching out to touch the back of the bookcase. One solid shove and it didn't move. "Oh God, I'm gonna die aren't I…?"

"Violet?" she heard Wyatt call from somewhere in the distance.

"Wyatt?" she yelled back, kicking at the back of the bookcase to make sound. "Wyatt! I'm stuck! Wyatt?!"

But no one came, and even though she called for a steady five minutes, there was no answer.

About to go into hysterics, she turned to the darkness behind her, eyes adjusting to make out vague forms. There were narrow walls on either side of her, and was that a…torch? About ready to live at the absurdity of the situation, Violet reached out for the torch form and took it down off the wall with struggle. The dilemma was she had nothing to light it with. And she was awfully uncomfortable in the dark.

Sighing, she slid it around in her hands, before her thumb caught on something sharp and the torch flared to life. Violet jumped back, dropping the light to the floor. Blinking, she let her palm drift over the fire at the torch's head, heat radiating back. How had it done that?

In no mood to figure things out right now, Violet picked the torch back up and stepped forward, footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Her feet were clad in nothing but a pair of socks, which quickly felt as if they were becoming damp. _Where was she?_

Panic rose in her chest even higher, but she stayed it off. The idea of this Mr. Fairgrave being a homicidal maniac became more and more promising as Violet thought about the fact her had dungeon-like passageways in his house. Why else would someone have such a thing if they didn't enjoy kidnapping people and chopping them into itty-bitty pieces?

A couple more feet and Violet noticed stairs in the hall, which she hesitantly, oh so hesitantly took. They led down, down, way lower than the first floor of the house sat. No one had told her this house had a basement– of course, no one told her a lot of things.

The torch's light flickered over the walls with each step she took, until finally the ground evened out. Violet was once more in a long corridor, the sound of rats scuttling around making her inwardly cringe. "What creepy stone secret passageway is complete without rats?" she asked herself archaically.

Just as she began to walk again, the sound of rats ebbed, instead being replaced with a woman's voice. But not just one. It sounded as if there were three of them. Brows knit together, Violet moved closer to the left side of the wall, pressing her ear up against it and walking farther down until the voices sounded as if they were right beside of her.

"…_As ta omóloga na eínai sfragisméno, étsi óste na min ta átoma me tin próthesi na perásei kakía_ …" Violet pressed closer to the wall, trying to decipher the strange language being spoken. Just as her hand came up so she could brace herself and lean more securely into the wall, the foundation gave way. Violet tried not to scream as she was tossed forward, landing against a stout wooden surface that gave no protest at her impact.

In the middle of the wooden structure was a small patch of metal. Violet glanced behind herself to see the door she'd fallen through was still open. Positive she wasn't going to be trapped in here, Violet slowly pried the metal away from the wooden wall, finding that it was a peephole. Blinking, she raised onto her toes to look through it, gasping at what she saw.

Evangeline stood in the middle of a large, dark room at an altar, her profile shown to Violet as she made a long line in her hand with a sharp knife. Blood spilled from Evangeline's palm into a bowl atop the altar, causing a loud sizzling sound followed by smoke dispersing throughout the space. What was Evangeline _doing_? Where had those other voices come from?

As if to answer Violet's silent question, Evangeline opened her mouth and began speaking; only what Violet heard was not just Evangeline's voice, but two others as well. It was then Violet noticed Evangeline's form wavering, as if three souls were trying to pry away from her body.

Violet watched in mute horror as the air in the room began to shift, sweeping the dust from the floor to mix with the smoke in the air. "_As ta omóloga na sfragízontai gia na prostatévei tous mésa se aftés tis prosfileís tous toíchous . Kaló tin mitéra Gaía gia na kratí̱sei aftá ta edáfi asfalí , kai oi néoi mésa_," Evangeline chanted, her body swaying to the cadence.

Suddenly there was a bight burst of light and Violet felt her bones jump, as if an electric current had run through her body. She yelped as the smoke began to clear, Evangeline's head snapping in the direction of the sound. Quickly, Violet slammed the metal hinge over the peephole and backed away from the alcove, shoving the wall into place behind her.

Blindly, she ran, the torch illuminating nothing but blank space in front of her. _What _was _that?_ she thought to herself frantically, trying not to trip over her own feet. Were these people in some kind of _cult_? Oh God, what if they'd chosen her to be their virgin sacrifice to the devil or something? Violet shuddered as she realized Albany had been right all of those times she'd said that Violet just needed to suck it up and get laid already.

It was another couple of yards before Violet was once again faced with a staircase, only this one led upwards instead of down. She took it two steps at a time, the landing at the top splitting into three separate paths, branching away from each other.

Swallowing dryly, Violet took the path on the far left, walking through it quickly. No one was chasing her as far as she could tell, but she wanted to be out of these passageways and back in the house, in the light.

When she came to the next divide, she could either keep going straight or take a new set of stairs. Something told her to take the stairs, which she did, finding herself at a new fork. Again, she took the far left. It wasn't more than a few yards before she found herself at a new wall, bracing against it and gasping for breath. She had to get _out_ of this place.

With a groan, she kicked at the wall. It gave a soft noise of protest, before inching open. Violet stumbled forward, having enough sense to toss the torch behind her before she landed and burned her hair off. Where she ended up was a bit of surprise– it was Mr. Fairgrave's office; she'd been here only a week ago to write that letter to Danny.

Blinking, she realized she'd come through a bookcase again. "Note to self not to touch them anymore," she whispered to the empty room, standing up and looking behind her to where the torch had landed. The fire inside of it had gone out. Shaking her head, Violet let the bookcase slide closed behind her and moved farther into the office, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. It was nice to smell the wood of the house instead of the mildew of those passageways.

Putting her hand to her head, she sank down into the desk chair, letting sunlight wash over her. Maybe what she'd witnessed down there had been a mirage, brought on by bouts of panic and being trapped in the dark all alone. It was possible, right? There was no way Evangeline– sweet, loopy, caring Evangeline– was spilling her blood in a bowl and casting some kind of…_spell_? Was that what she'd been doing? God, what was happening?

Violet was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone on the desk began ringing. She stared at it, almost confused when it had stopped. Wait, that meant someone had answered it, and there was someone on the other line, and they might not know about any of this, and if Violet could talk to them and ask for help–

Just as she reached for the phone, Violet heard Wyatt calling out from the hall. "Olli olli oxen free! Oh, come on, Vi! I get it; you were right when ya said you'd kick my butt at this game! But come on! I give up! Chad stopped playin' like fifteen minutes ago!"

Violet stared at the phone for another stiff moment, before sighing and standing from the chair. She walked to the door of the office, slipping into the hall to go call a truce on the game with Wyatt. Before she closed the door though, she cast a small glance back at the bookcase. There was absolutely no way what she'd seen in those passageways had been real, and if somehow, it had, she was in a lot more trouble than she'd originally thought.

* * *

Logan tapped his fingers restlessly against the seat's armrest, taking a deep breath as the plane experienced turbulence. He'd left John's home not two hours ago, eager to be on his way home and away from his siblings for a good long while.

It'd been four days since Logan's own try at the spell and his little encounter with Selene. Since then, John had taken his turn and was able to locate Metis, a past lover of Zeus'. Needless to say, Helen had been less than pleased and gone on a rampage, allowing for everyone to leave for home the very next day. John sent them all off with the simple word that he would call once the Gods had been collected, and they would try the spells again in two months' time. The Fates did not know when this supposed war was to begin, but they said at least not until the first snow would the Olympians' enemies try anything against them; for now the only thing to focus on was finding more allies.

Before he'd left the house, old Tamara had pulled Logan aside and given him the warning to watch his back around the Goddess of the moon. "She meant what she said about not joinin' ya side, young Hades. I know she be a lover of da past–"

"That means nothing," Logan had said emotionlessly. The small handful of affairs he and Selene had had throughout their many mortal lifetimes had always been for sex, never anything else. They didn't particularly enjoy each other's company, and the only time they ever really talked was if Selene was making a deal for her and her brother, or if Logan was telling her to get the hell out of his house.

Tamara had glared at Logan for interrupting her, but had resumed talking anyways. "Aye, but she still knows ya weak spot, young Hades."

"Which is?"

"Young Persephone, ya bumbo. Don't try and play dumb with me, because it won't get ya anywhere. Selene and that brotha of hers know what that girl means ta ya, and what leverage it could get dem with your enemies. Who else ta get da Keys of Hades but Hades himself? And who else to bribe 'im with but his bride?"

"She isn't my bride." Logan had bit his tongue, tried not to yell but he still had. He was tired of people trying to convince him that Violet meant more to him than a leg-up against the Titans. She didn't.

Tamara had simply smirked at his outburst, patting his cheek with her withered hand. "Whatever ya say, young Hades. Just remember what I told ya, and make sure old Hecate keeps on 'er toes against those scoundrels. I always had a soft spot for ya, and wouldn't wanna see ya getting 'urt."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Logan leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. He'd taken two valiums before boarding the flight, but they weren't helping him much. Even the three glasses of whiskey he'd ordered weren't kicking in. Gods, he detested flying. Driving home would have been more comfortable, but this route was quicker and John had insisted upon it.

He'd called Hecate before the plane left to let her know he was coming home a day earlier than planned. She'd been thrilled, preaching about how Violet was looking worse for wear by the days, and that the only time she smiled was when she was with Wyatt. Even then, Hecate had recently noticed that moment Wyatt wasn't looking, Violet would let her smile fall. All of which meaning Hecate needed help with the girl.

"She's homesick," Hecate had said tiredly, trying to explain the situation more thoroughly.

"What would you have me do, Hecate? You were the one who said it wasn't wise to bring her brother along with her. He's human, after all. He will understand none of this. At least when Violet gets her memories back, she will."

"But at what cost?" Hecate had asked. "My Lord, she won't eat. She barely sleeps, and when she does it's only because she's cried herself to exhaustion. Wyatt says she has found new ways of harming herself, and the girl will tell no one anything personal of how she feels. She tells Wyatt childhood stories, but never discloses more than needed. She is not happy."

"We kidnapped her, Hecate," Logan had sighed, sinking into the seat outside of his plane terminal. "You can't expect her just to be content because she's sitting pretty and everyone's nice to her."

"No, but I can expect her not to kill herself."

Logan had been quiet at that, staring vacantly through the airport windows. "Wait until I get home and I'll figure out what needs to be done. Until then, just keep her and Wyatt together as much as possible, since he seems to make her happy."

They'd ended the call after that, leaving Logan where he was now, sitting on this damned flight with no good feelings of when he was to touch down back in Connecticut. Closing his eyes, Logan grit his teeth as he realized even when he was home, he'd have no time to relax. A frazzled Violet was waiting for him, and he didn't expect she'd welcome him back with open arms.

* * *

Violet woke up screaming and tangled in her sheets.

It took her a moment, but she finally got enough mind to clap her hand over her mouth, stifling any sound so no one would come to check on her. She couldn't look at anyone right now. After she'd found Wyatt and told him she was done playing, she'd feigned sick and come back to her bedroom, where she hadn't left for the rest of the day or night, drifting in and out of sleep restlessly.

By now it was three in the morning. Dead Hour, as Danny always liked to tell her ever since he'd gotten hooked on the show Paranormal State when he was ten. Violet had also heard it referred to as the Witching Hour, which simply made her skin crawl.

Flashbacks of what she'd seen in those passageways flickered through her mind, making her shudder and throw the sheets off, setting her bare feet on the floor.

Over the past two weeks, this room had come to reflect her more than she'd like to admit. Thaddeus had delivered a bag of her things he'd taken from her house a few days ago, the items it contained inside spread out through the room. She kept her favorite stuffed animal, Cuppy, on the bed, and the picture of her family on the nightstand. She wore only the clothes that had been in the suitcase, a few things from the wardrobe when her own clothes weren't clean.

Books were scattered all over the floor, some her own and some from the library. All of the trinkets and make-up that had been in the vanity was now atop it. Evangeline had delivered canvases and paints after Wyatt had told her about Violet mentioning how much she liked to paint. They now rested in the corner, paint on the floor and a few finished works propped against the walls.

After much argument, Violet had finally allowed Evangeline to stock the bathroom with all her favorites, from soap to shampoo to bath salts. As Violet made her way into the room now, she could smell the lilac scented candles, even though they weren't lit.

Sighing, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, hair a mess and sweat dripping down her skin. She looked paler than she remembered herself being, freckles stark against her cheeks. Her collarbones looked as if they were about to rip through the flesh of her shoulders, and her eyes seemed dead.

"Please," she said to her reflection. "Let this all be a dream."

Hell, she thought as she saw images of smoke and blood and a witch's cackle, she'd even settle for it being a nightmare.


	17. The Fruit of the Underworld

**a/n:** hey guys sorry about the last kind of teaser chapter. i just have a lot of feels about the first day of spring and what it symbolizes. Hope it didn't turn everyone off too much. also, sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but i liked the stopping point. so without further ado, the real chapter seventeen folks!

* * *

Violet sat lazily at the kitchen table as Wyatt poured himself a glass of Sunny-D, coming to sit next to her after he was finished. Evangeline wasn't there to make breakfast as usual; Violet didn't much feel like subbing in. So today Wyatt was eating cereal– Fruity Pebbles by choice, something that made Violet's heart ache for Danny all the more– and Violet was nibbling at the skin of an apple, trying not to have a panic attack.

The house was filled with servants this morning. Maids and cleaners of all sorts. Every single one had been paid off not to interact with Violet though. A sort of don't ask don't tell kind of policy. Violet figured that after her first interaction with a maid here– it was her third day of being kidnapped and she'd found a young woman cleaning up in the hall and had started screaming for the girl to call the cops and everyone here was insane before being hefted over Thaddeus' shoulder and being carried back to her room with no avail– Evangeline had gone to great lengths to make sure such a catastrophe never happened again.

When she'd first gotten up Violet had had no idea why the entire house was in such a tizzy. But then Wyatt had barged in on the middle of her brushing her teeth and proclaimed his uncle was due back in the afternoon. The infamous Mr. Fairgrave's flight had landed this morning, but before he could come home he'd had unexpected business to take care of. Wyatt was, of course, ecstatic. Violet on the other hand wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out ever again.

"What's eatin' you, Vi?" Wyatt asked, scarfing down his second bowl of cereal and going for thirds.

"Nothing," she lied, tight-lipped. "I still don't feel too well, is all. I think I might go lay down for a while."

"You want me to go with ya?" Wyatt asked, getting ready to stand as Violet did. Sometimes she couldn't help but compare the boy to a puppy; some loving and over-energetic Labrador that followed wherever she went.

Shaking her head, Violet pushed her chair back into the kitchen table. "That's okay, Wyatt. I wouldn't be much company, just sleeping."

"I could do for a nap myself," Wyatt said, giving her the puppy-dog eyes for full effect.

Violet sighed. "Alright."

With a warm smile, Wyatt hopped up from the table and left his dirty dishes there. Violet gave him a raised brow and he smiled sheepishly, going back over to put his bowl and glass in the sink and put the cereal box away while Violet threw her barely eaten apple in the trash. Over the years of raising her brother Violet had become very good at giving kids the 'expectant brow' as Danny had always called it.

Once cleanup was finished, she and Wyatt headed down the hall toward the stairs that led to the entertainment room, only to be stopped once they passed the door to Thaddeus' room. Violet had only been told once which room Thaddeus slept in, and in her whole two weeks here she'd never seen the door open. Until now, that was.

Thaddeus sat on the end of an ornate bed, tying his overly expensive dress shoes when he called Wyatt and Violet inside. She noticed for the most part his room was adorned the same as hers with dark furniture and heavy draping, only Thaddeus had gone the extra step to make the place his own, with vintage movie posters on the walls, a massive stereo and clothes and trinkets littered about.

"Where you two headed?" Thaddeus asked, smoothing brown hair away from his forehead. It'd taken Violet a while to notice, but she was now aware of the gray streaks mixed in.

"Takin' a nap," Wyatt said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Thaddeus was the guy to call everyone out on their bullshit, especially Wyatt. It was apparent what offence the boy had taken from it.

"I don't think so," said Thaddeus.

"And why not?" Wyatt asked.

Violet looked between the two males, one a man the other still a boy. Wyatt was trying to look tough, and Thaddeus was obviously amused. If not his expression that gave it away, then his small chuckle as he said, "Evangeline's lookin' for queeny over there. Has to get her ready to meet the boss. _You_, tough guy, have tutor."

"It's Sunday!" Wyatt whined.

"Should've thought of that before you got expelled," Thaddeus said, then turned his attentions to Violet. "Head up to your room, okay? Evangeline's already got a bath waiting for you. Woman loves to play dress up, so prepare yourself."

"Lovely," Violet murmured, leaving a sulking Wyatt to try and get out of tutoring with an unmoving Thaddeus.

She climbed the stairs slowly, pulse in her throat. The entertainment room had been unlocked permanently, though the door at the end of the third floor hall was only open during the day. She walked through it with caution, heading down to her bedroom and peeking inside.

On her bed laid a new dress– she withheld a guilt-filled and overly annoyed groan– and a cardigan she'd favored on the days she'd decided to wear short sleeved shirts. Evangeline was fussing at the vanity, cleaning off the makeups Violet had let collect dust, and heating up a curling iron. At the sight, Violet decided to tuck tail and leave before it was too late.

"Oh no you don't," Evangeline said.

Violet froze, sighing inwardly as she turned around to face the older woman who was staring at her with keen eyes. They were such a dazzling hue, and Violet tried not to think of the day before down in those passageways, when Evangeline had not had just one set of eyes, but three.

Shaking it off, Violet walked into the room and surrendered to Evangeline's onslaught of washing, being thrown in the tub and getting scrubbed raw much like her first night here. It was the fifth time she'd let Evangeline give her a bath. Duirng the second the older woman had confessed she loved it so because she'd never had any daughters of her own to do such things for.

It was for this reason Violet held any complaint and blocked any thought of the passageways, instead staring at the bubbles in the water sloshing around her. Bones were outlined through her skin far more than she remembered. It appeared the sparse meals she'd had plus the almost daily puking had taken its wear on her. Evangeline was aware of it to, telling her every day to eat more and trying to bribe her with things like sausage and black olive pizza and rocky road ice-cream, somehow knowing they were Violet's favorites. She hadn't budged though; she was no Persephone naïve enough to eat too much the fruit of the Underworld.

When she'd been properly washed a scrubbed, Evangeline shoved Violet into a fluffy robe she'd come to sort of love, sitting the girl down at the vanity chair to fiddle and tinker with her hair. Violet sat numbly, staring at the dead eyes of her reflection as Evangeline talked softly of how she so loved Violet's hair, curling stray ends and pinning it back from her face in intricate braids.

And then came make-up. Not much, just some blush, some mascara, some peach lipstick. Some kind of powder that made Violet's skin sparkle. It felt strange, to be this dolled up for someone who had kidnapped her. So when Evangeline shoved Violet into the new dress– pink with floral print and capped sleeves and cut above the knee– and favored cardigan– yellow and soft wool– and a pair of overly ridiculous knee-high socks, Violet could no longer contain herself.

"Am I being whored out to him, or something?" she asked, sounding weak when she'd really wanted to sound harsh.

"_What_?" Evangeline asked, seeming truly shocked. Nothing shocked the woman, not ever. But apparently this kind of comment had.

"You heard me," Violet said, eyebrows pulling together. "Is this why he kidnapped me? Does he have a fondness for virgins or something?"

"I don't understand," Evangeline said, staring at Violet in surprise.

"You understand perfectly," Violet said, offended she was playing dumb. "Come on, spit it out, Evangeline. Does he want to fuck me then? Is that why he brought me here? If so, let him get it over with and send me home."

Getting over her shock, Evangeline gave Violet a sudden and stern look. "Violet Porter, wherever did you get such a notion? As I told you when you first came here, Mr. Fairgrave's intentions are completely pure. He only means you here to help people. He won't touch you unless you ask him to. I'm only doing this so you look nice when meeting him– Gods know you aren't taking care of yourself and look like the walking dead most of the time. I'm trying to soften the blow for the man."

"Are you calling me ugly?" Violet asked, anger now mixed with self-consciousness.

And at that, Evangeline laughed. "Good heavens child, I do so often wonder how the circuits connect in that head of yours."

"So now you're calling me stupid?"

Shaking her head exasperatedly, Evangeline set a hand on Violet's back and escorted her from the room, not answering anymore questions. So down the opposite set of stairs which Violet had come to the floor from they went, and then down the next set into the entry foyer. By now the maids and cleaners had made good work of the house, everything spotless and smelling overly sanitized.

It made Violet's nose itch.

She hadn't noticed the time during her makeover, but from the grandfather clock in the room Violet realized it was now nearly noon. Wyatt was sitting on the bottom of the steps in the foyer, having traded in his pajamas for some jeans and a t-shirt. She went to join him, noticing the string in his hands and joining in on the game of cat's cradle. Myrtle was across the room being the old cook she usually was and talking to one of the stone statues in the hall, while Evangeline went to stand next to Thaddeus and Chad by the front door, fixing the latter's tie like a doting mother.

"So this is the welcome crew, then?" Violet murmured to Wyatt, letting him trap her wrist between the strings.

"Always is," Wyatt said softly, risking a glance up at her. "You look real pretty, Vi."

The customary blush that rose to her cheeks made her uncomfortable. "Thanks."

There wasn't much conversation after that. Instead there was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, followed by footsteps up the front porch and to the door. Evangeline opened it for whoever was behind the wooden structure, giving a grand sort of greeting. Violet didn't look, didn't want to. She let everyone else go first, including Wyatt who left her alone on the stairs.

"And who's this little thing?" she heard Evangeline ask, followed by a soft yapping sound. "Logan, when did you get a dog?"

_Logan?_

Violet looked up and–

"Son of a _bitch_!" she screamed before she could stop herself, the group in the doorway frozen, all eyes on her.

Violet took in Logan's face, the same dark eyes and sharp angles she remembered. Same dark hair, same somber look, same lean and strong build. Same everything. Except now, he was a completely different person to her. He was not the man who'd saved her from Albany's pervert of a boss, or the man who had taken her for coffee and talked of Greek myth with her or asked for her phone number and had made her hands shake in a new and exciting sort of way.

Now he was Logan Fairgrave. The man who had kidnapped her, who had locked her away in a house in the middle of God knew where and had forced her to stay against her will. He was the man who'd taken her from her baby brother and made Danny think she'd left him, home alone with no one to love him and taking care of an insane mother all on his own. He was the man who'd taken her very life from her.

Why he'd asked her view on the story of Hades and Persephone finally made sense.

"Violet?" Wyatt asked, confused of her outrage. "Hey what's wrong?"

"_Him_!" Violet said indignantly, standing to her feet, hand gripping the banister so hard her knuckles turned white. "You lying, conniving _bastard_! How _dare_ you!"

Logan gave her a leveled look. "It's good to see you again too, Violet."

"_Go to hell_!" Violet screamed.

Before anyone had the chance to stop her, she ran from the room toward the library, slamming and locking the door behind her just as she heard Thaddeus and Chad fumbling down the hall close on her heels. Wasting no time, she moved to the back of the room, where the roundness of everything became flat. Pressing against the wall, she let the shelf sink in and enveloped herself in darkness, the door swinging shut behind her.

She ran without light, without thought, the tears so steady and sudden she couldn't stop them.

What had she thought would happen? She'd meet the man who kidnapped her and everything would be fine? They'd have a chat over tea and crumpets and she'd tell him she wasn't who he thought she was and he'd send her on her merry way, back home to Danny without cost?

She didn't know, she didn't care. Because above all else, she hadn't expected her kidnapper to be _Logan_. A man she'd thought of kissing, of falling in love with, having babies with, growing old together. Granted, it'd been under a time of duress, but it had still been a small thought of possibility in her mind. Even when she hadn't been kidnapped, when she'd first met the man and he'd asked to go home with her, she'd wanted to let him. _God_, how she'd wanted to.

And when he'd touched her on that dance floor, the way her nerves were alive and it was like his eyes were staring into her soul (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.) and he'd taken her for coffee, and smiled at her and asked for her number and she'd regretted so much not giving it to him, and had secretly hoped he wouldn't leave town before she could run into him again and then had almost mourned when she'd been brought here and thought all of that too had been lost.

But now, now...he'd taken _everything_.

She didn't know where she was in the passageways by now. All she knew was that it was dark and cold and she was crying so hard she was gagging, and she couldn't breathe. Without further thought she dropped to the ground, sinking back against the wall and bringing her knees to her chest.

"How could he?" she sobbed.

Because in some small, unrecognizable way she'd trusted him. She'd trusted him and he'd betrayed her. He'd taken from her the person she loved most.

And so there she was, Violet Porter crying herself sick in the darkness.


	18. The Lack of Proposition

**a/n**: i just wanted to say thanks again to everyone who's kept up with the story. it means so much. i'd love to hear what you have to think; thanks!

* * *

Well, that had gone…worse than Logan had expected. He hadn't thought Violet would cheerfully thank him for kidnapping her or anything, but he definitely had not thought she'd run away.

"What the _hell_?" Wyatt suddenly asked, shocking Logan from his reprieve as he stared after the disappearing Violet, Thaddeus and Chad following close behind her as if it would somehow slow her down. For such a tiny thing, she was very quick.

"What the hell?" Logan asked, raising his eyebrow at Wyatt questionably.

The boy stood his ground– if Logan didn't know better he could've sworn they actually were related by how much defiance Wyatt too, had grown up with. "Yeah, what the _hell_? What'd you _do_?"

"You know the situation," Logan said emotionlessly, closing the front door and taking the few steps down into the entry hall. "Isn't that enough?"

"No," Wyatt shook his head, shoving the dog off as it pawed at his feet. "Vi's usually pretty…_calm_ about this shit, but not now!"

"Vi?" Logan asked, questioning tone renewed. "I see you've grown quite attached then." Logan should've known this would happen, really. Wyatt was such a typical teenage boy it was kind of humorous. Any new toy you flashed at him enraptured his attentions, especially when that new toy had pretty hair and a cunt between her legs. Most times Logan had found himself wishing the boy was gay; then at least he wouldn't have had to worry so much about teen pregnancy.

"Wyatt, your uncle and Violet have…met before," Evangeline said, holding tight to the dog's leash as it lay down next to her, irate because it was getting no attention. "I'm afraid she did not know it was under such a pretense that she would be…_brought_ here. I'm sure she's just confused right now."

"Met? First you tell me she's a family friend come to visit, then you tell me we had to kidnap her because she's the long lost Persephone to your Hades or whatever, and _now_ you're sayin' you met with her before and didn't even _tell_ her?" Wyatt asked, livid. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"Watch your language around me, boy," Logan said coldly, making Wyatt gulp and take a step back from where he'd invaded Logan's personal space. "What was I supposed to say to her, hmm? As if she could believe the truth. She's spent her entire life as a mortal, Wyatt. She's grown– we can't just cast some sort of spell to make her remember without the risk of hurting her. Once the brain's developed, remembrance spells do nothing but destroy circuits connected to basic memory; if anything were to go wrong she could lose all brain function. Would you rather we accidentally put her in a coma, or keep her here and try to help her remember on her own?"

"But couldn't there have been a better way?" Wyatt asked. "What about her brother– why can't we bring him here?"

For this answer, Logan looked to Hecate. He was irritated with trying to explain things to this love-sick boy who should've known better than to question Logan's authority. Since being brought to the house, Wyatt had always followed the rules Logan had set for him– granted he'd skirted around the edges to be a bit rebellious, as was expected of any teenager– but two weeks with Violet and he was being a quizzical little shit for _what_? Because he wanted to get his hands under Violet's skirt or something?

The thought made Logan angry, almost…_jealous_?

"Her brother is human, Wyatt. We could not bring him into any of this. You know what the circumstances are for Violet's use. To bring a fourteen year old mortal into the middle of a war between Gods would be too hazardous toward his life. Violet would not want that. Besides, he'd never understand the ways here," Hecate said by way of explanation. "I know Violet does not much believe us, but the boy is protected. He has even gone as far to call his aunt to come and help take of his mother for him, for when he goes back to school in a few weeks. We've provided ample financial support, and we have nymphs on every corner taking watch for the boy in case anyone were to trace Violet's essence back to her house."

"Her best friend is a nymph," Logan said whimsically, hoping this would reassure Wyatt further. "Of course, the imprudent girl doesn't _know_ that she is one, but as one of Demeter's disciples as most nymphs are, she has an innate need to protect Violet. Therefore, with Violet gone as of the moment, she is looking after Danny to compensate."

Wyatt shook his head, greased back hair not moving an inch. "Vi's miserable though."

It was then Logan turned his attentions to the dog lying at Hecate's feet, giving it a nudge with the toe of his shoe. The dog perked up, standing with an excited bark. "I called Artemis. She was good friends with Violet back…_then_, and she suggested a nonhuman companion for her…" Logan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Incentive to eat and all that."

"You got her a _dog_?" Wyatt asked incredulously.

"What else did you think it was for?"

"I don't know," Wyatt said, scratching the back of his head. "Guard duty?"

Hecate chuckled, reaching down to the dog's collar and showing Wyatt the tag. It had the ancient Grecian symbol of protection on it. "This is no normal dog, Wyatt."

"Well shit," Wyatt said, giving the dog an appreciative onceover. "Does this one got three heads too?"

Frowning, Logan said, "Does it look like it has three heads?"

"Who knows with magic," Wyatt said, waving a hand nonchalantly. "So no Cerberus reincarnated here, huh?"

"No," Logan said, unhooking the leash from the dog's collar and snapping for it to go, so it could familiarize itself with the house. "But it is blessed by some of Hecate's priestesses from New Salem."

"Aunt Ang still has followers?"

"Wicca is very popular," Hecate laughed heartily. "It's practically a _cult_ sensation. You did not think I got my power simply from age, did you? If so, your uncle would be even stronger than I. He has had more cycles."

"It's the reason Thaddeus is so well off," Logan added as he saw aforementioned man headed down the hallways towards them. Chad was behind him, but there was no sign of Violet. "Death is everywhere."

"No luck," Thaddeus said as he came to stand beside Hecate, abruptly changing the topic of conversation. "Locked herself in the library and when we got in, _poof_. No more Violet."

"Do ya think she got out?" Wyatt asked, suddenly looking frantic. "She can't go into the woods! They'll eat 'er alive!"

"She hasn't gotten out," Logan said. He could still feel her in the house, her essence dripping over every inch. It was intoxicating. He knew from experience with the other Gods that her proximity had to be close in order to feel her so strongly. "I know where she is."

"Then let's go get her," Wyatt said, taking a step forward, before being violently yanked back when Logan grabbed onto his shoulder.

The dog, which had been sniffing around the sitting room, was now barking like mad at the scuffle from the doorway. Suddenly, Myrtle put a hand on the animal's head and it calmed, giving a lazy groan as it let Myrtle pet it affectionately. "Good rabbit," said Myrtle, smiling a toothless grin.

"Did you forget to help her put in her dentures again?" Logan murmured to Chad, giving the young man a sort of expectant raise of brow.

Chad held his hands up defensively. "She tried to bite me."

Logan sighed, shaking his head and loosening his grip on Wyatt's shoulder. "You stay down here. Do your homework, or something. Hecate, take the dog up to Violet's room and get Myrtle to put her teeth in, please. And you two," Logan said, looking to Chad and Thaddeus with a bored expression. "Go do something useful."

"Right away boss," Thaddeus said, rolling his eyes before grabbing Chad by the tie and stomping off with him, probably to get drunk and play cards as they usually did when not otherwise occupied.

"Can't I please see Vi?" Wyatt asked, agitating Logan to no end. "She's real upset and I can get her to calm down and–"

"_No_, Wyatt. I need to talk to her. _Alone_."

With that, Logan left for his office, taking the stairs languidly. When he was in the safety of the room, he locked the door and grabbed one of the lamps off one of the tables by the bookshelves. Not many people kept kerosene powered lights anymore, but they also didn't have underground structures in their homes that had no natural lighting. And Thaddeus had said that Violet had disappeared in the library– either she was a magician, or she'd found the entrance there. Logan figured the latter to be the most likely answer.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the secret door in; leaving his office behind to the dark as her turned the lamp on, holding it in front of him as he began to take the halls slowly. It was on the second floor of the house he first heard the crying. He took the passageway to his far right, steps echoing as he moved closer and closer to the sound.

What he found was Violet in the middle of the stone tunnel, curled up in herself and pressed back against the wall, sobbing quietly into the folds of her dress. For a moment Logan simply stood there, mere feet from her and obviously uncomfortable. He didn't much know how to handle crying. All of the women he'd been with had either been too short a fling for such things to come about, or they were so stoic barely any emotion affected them, much less enough to make them _cry_.

With a long sigh, Logan closed the space between him and Violet, setting the lamp on the floor as he moved into a crouch and reached out a hand to softly touch her shoulder. The moment he did, Violet screamed. _Loudly_. She scurried away from him, trying to get up and run, but Logan grabbed onto her wrist, squeezing to the point she whimpered and slunk back down next to him.

"I just want to talk to you," he said as calmly as he could given the situation.

Violet nodded tersely, and when he let go of her wrist in return, she clutched it to her chest, rubbing at the skin there. Even in the small amount of light the lamp allowed he could see it was turning a deep red. Looking away in shame, he held a hand out to her. She took it hesitantly, rising to her feet as Logan did. He'd forgotten how short she was in comparison– at least a head and half less than him. And she looked so small, as if one touch of his hands to her and she would snap.

"You could stand to gain some weight," he said without really realizing he was saying it.

"Excuse me?" Violet asked. Where moments before there had been trepidation, there was now disdain.

"You're too bony," Logan said, taking a step forward to go back the way he'd come from. Violet moved to do the same but wobbled and nearly fell. He caught her easily, and with a renewed sigh (Gods, who was he kidding– his life was made of one sigh after another) handed her the lamp. She began to make a sound of confusion before Logan braced a hand on her back and moved his arm under her knees, scooping her up bridal style and beginning to walk back the way he'd come from.

"What are you _doing_?" she hissed, clutching the lamp so tightly he thought she'd make her hands bleed from the imprints of the metal. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."

"I don't need you falling and breaking something," he said, taking the set of steps that led back toward his office. "You can see the complications bringing you to the emergency room would arise."

"Why, whatever for Mr. Fairgrave?" Violet asked with mock innocence. "Are you afraid I'll tell them all about how you kidnapped me and are holding me here against my will?"

"Don't call me that," he snapped, instead of answering her question.

"Mr. Fairgrave?" she asked. "But that is your name, isn't it?"

"My name is Logan. Mr. Fairgrave is my title."

"A psychopath of simplicity," Violet said, laughing into the dark of the passageways. "Who would've thought?"

When they made it back to the door that led to Logan's office, he pushed it open with his foot and moved to sit Violet down on a settee by the small greenhouse in the room. Closing the door to the passageways, he turned out the lamp and set it back on the table where he'd originally gotten it from. Before looking back to Violet, he went to take his suit coat off and drape it over the back of the office chair, loosening his tie while he was at it.

Violet was staring at him expectantly as he turned to face her, malice in the girl's expression. She had dust in her hair from the tunnels, but he said nothing of it. Instead he tilted his head, trying to get a good read on her. "What?" she asked, the longer he stared. "Shocked I'm not so thrilled to see you?"

"No," he said, leaning back against his desk. "It's just that after the number you did on Thaddeus, I was expecting more fight out of you."

She looked away at that, seeming almost ashamed. "What's the point?" she asked eventually, a broken tone to her voice. "I'm not going to get out of here on my own. All of the doors have alarms, and there's someone guarding basically every post. You've locked up all the windows, and even if I were to get out of the house, I wouldn't know how to get through the woods."

"Smart girl," Logan said. "So why is it you keep trying to escape?"

"Danny," Violet said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "My brother, he needs me."

"Your brother is fine," Logan said, moving over to a cart in the room that held expensive bottles and glasses. He sloshed an amber liquid– either whiskey, scotch, brandy, he didn't know– into one of the glasses and took a drink. Whiskey it was, then. "You friend Albany is there for him quite often. He called your aunt, who's scheduled to come and stay with for a few weeks when he starts school to take care of your mother. My associates have made sure that no one will be suspicious; he shall not be placed in a group home or any such thing. He'll be fine."

"But who's going to nurture him?" Violet asked, pulling her legs up onto the settee and wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Come again?" Logan questioned. _Nurture him?_ The boy had what he needed; he was financially secure and safe from any harm coming to him. He had a companion– even if she was originally Violet's– and a caretaker soon to come.

"_Nurture him_," Violet reiterated, sass apparent in her tone. "Who's going to love him and tell them they're proud of him and that they'll always be there for him? Who's going to play video games with him and make up stupid rhymes so he remembers the formulas for his chemistry homework? Albany will talk to him, take him to do things. But that's all surface bullshit. Our aunt never wanted kids, was never good with them. She loves us, obviously, but she can't express affection. My mother can't either."

"I fail to see your point?" Logan asked, scratching at his temple.

"Are you really _that_ heartless?" Violet asked, shaking her head at him. "Danny's only _fourteen_. He needs someone there to tell him how important he is. This is the pivotal age where you gain self-worth, and when no one is there to help you realize that you _are_ worth something, life sucks."

"You speak as if you know from personal experience," Logan said, intrigued by her words despite himself. For being such a young age, she was incredibly opinionated and wise, in a sort of way he hadn't encountered for a long time.

"I do," Violet said, head held high, even if she was admitting her own self-worth was that of lesser value.

"So that's why you cut yourself?" Logan asked simply.

A sudden look came about Violet's face. If he'd thought she was upset with him before, then she was _livid_ now. "How dare you," she said, standing in a swift motion. "Don't pretend to know me. Just because you have a file of my life on your desk does not give you jurisdiction to _judge_ me. God, I _knew_ there was a reason I didn't give you my phone number. Who dates a psychopath?"

And even though he'd been a bit shocked at her outburst, that last comment made Logan laugh, setting his drink down so he didn't drop it as he doubled over. "You really think I did all of this because I wanted to _date_ you?" For her part, Violet stood her ground even as her cheeks began to heat in embarrassment. "Oh, sweetheart, give me a break here. You are _not_ my type." He could see she was insulted, but he really didn't care. "I brought you here because I am in need of your assistance, and nothing more. Though if you do want to share my bed, all you have to do is ask," he said, giving her a suggestive sort of look.

"I thought I wasn't your type," Violet said haughtily.

"You're a bit young and too shy and skinny," he shrugged, "but I'm sure I could teach you well enough."

"I am _not_ young," Violet said indignantly. "I am _not_ skinny either. And just because I don't say much doesn't mean I'm shy. I just don't have anything to say. You don't have to be constantly talking to communicate."

"I didn't get that impression at the club," Logan taunted. He was a bit entertained at how riled up she was becoming. "You were stuttering all over yourself when in my company."

"So were you!" Violet accused. "Don't pretend you didn't try and come after me when I left!"

"Did you ever consider it was to proposition you to come here?"

And for a moment, Violet became silent. Logan smirked, hook line and sinker. This girl had been so dead set to best him in a verbal argument on something as contrite as their attraction for one another; he couldn't imagine what she was going to yell about him about next. Besides, it was true that she was not his usual type– he often liked assertive women nearer to his own age, who had a bit more meat on their bones than Violet's tiny little frame– but he was still attracted to her. He figured it to be the spitfire she'd come to show beneath the shyness he claimed toward her. There was always a new facet of her he came to find during their little meetings. And she had pretty hair; Logan was a sucker for pretty hair.

But that didn't matter; he'd never admit such things to her. There were more important tasks to use her for than a warm body to take.

"Then why didn't you _proposition_ me?" she asked at last, holding his gaze steadily. "Instead, you kidnap me. Why?"

"I was going to talk to you that night after we went for coffee," he lied smoothly. "But you didn't give me your number, in case you don't remember."

"So you _kidnapped_ me instead?" Violet asked sardonically.

"The matter was urgent," said Logan, grabbing his glass from the desk and finishing off its contents. "I had no more time for pretenses, as something had come up."

"Pretenses toward _what_?" Violet asked. "Everyone keeps saying you want me here to _help_ you, but help you do what?"

"Save people," Logan shrugged. It was the technical truth; in giving him enough power to destroy the Titans, Violet would be helping in stopping the ancient beings from terminating basically the entirety of the world. It'd save billions of lives, but more importantly it would help Logan kill Kronus.

"What people?" Violet asked suspiciously.

"Many."

"Stop bullshitting me," she shouted, marching up in his face with a certain spark in her he was coming to very much like. "What is going on here? What, do you work for the freaking government or something? CIA? I'd hardly believe it if you did, because it's not like you'd need me. I'm just a college student from Boston; I can't save people! I major in the study of plants, for God's sake!"

"Violet," Logan said, amusement turning to seriousness. "Look, things are hard to explain as of right now. You'll understand in time when you come to remember everything."

"Remember_ what_?" she asked exasperatedly, throwing her arms in the air.

"Who you were," he answered. "Who _we_ were."

"_I_ am Violet Porter." _Stubborn little thing, isn't she?_ "I'm twenty, twenty-one in a month. I was born in Boston, to Cormac and Rhonda Porter. I have a brother who's fourteen. His name is Danny. I work at K-mart. I go part-time to university. My favorite book is _Of Mice and Men_. I like sweaters, and I hate lima beans. What else am I missing?"

"Everything," Logan said simply. "Now, if you'll put this conversation on hold for a bit, it's time for lunch and I am starving."

He brushed by her then, headed to the door. As he opened it and looked back, he saw her standing there, eyes rooted to the spot he had been. Asking if she was coming, he was a bit amused by the way she shook herself from her shock and stomped past him. In many ways she was a woman, but there was also still the air of childishness about her. It made him question why she had such a pull over him– Logan detested pettiness. But, he liked to reason, her maturity seemed to outweigh such things, even if said maturity was rooted in anger when she was around him.

Violet followed after him down the stairs to the entry foyer, down the hall to the dining room where Hecate, Wyatt, Thaddeus, Chad and Myrtle already sat. Usually they only ever shared one another's company at meals during dinner time, but Logan knew Hecate was excited for him to be home and wanted to talk with him. Though not his biological mother in this lifetime, Hecate had basically been the one to raise him, having been Logan's nanny since he was the age of eight. She acted as his true mother and was as annoying as one too, but she was also a dear friend so he put up with it.

There was a chair vacant near the one at the head of the table, across from Wyatt. Logan pulled it out quietly, gesturing for Violet to sit. She glared at him as she did so, muttering an icy _thank you_ under her breath. Rolling his eyes, Logan took the head chair. There was already food on the table, and water poured in wine glasses at each place. Logan stared at his with a sort of bored expression. The idea of common drinks made to look fancy by being poured in glasses used for alcohol had always seemed stupid to him, but voicing complaint about it seemed tedious.

Violet, on the other hand, was obvious in how frivolous she found it, twisting the stem of the glass in her hands and eyeing the contents. "Is this spiked?"

"Good heavens little one, when has it ever been?" Evangeline asked, seeming a bit frustrated. "I don't know what's gotten into you today child, but it's as if your hem is six inches deep in sass."

"This isn't Pride and Prejudice, Ang," Thaddeus said, earning a surprised look from everyone at the table. "What? A man's not allowed to like a good Austen novel every now and then that just happened to be adapted into a movie that he happened to watch and like?"

Chad laughed at this, as did Wyatt and Hecate. Logan might have chuckled if he wasn't so busy staring at Violet, who's expression had gone from one of anger and distrust to a small smile as she stared down at her plate, afraid to show the grin in betrayal of her sour attitude.

"I dare say Mr. Darcy, you scarcely have the tongue to explain yourself," Wyatt said in a high soprano of a voice, putting on a fake English accent for full measure. He looked pointedly at Violet then and waggled his eyebrows, causing a small laugh to slip past her lips.

Logan kept his expression passive even though he wanted to frown. Hadn't she been so upset to be kidnapped and 'trapped' here just minutes earlier? And now she was laughing at the antics of his acquaintances and idiot nephew. What kind of game was she playing?

Just as the frown really was beginning to settle at the corners of Logan's mouth, Violet looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled under the lights of the room, and he saw a false smile in them, making emotion he couldn't begin to grasp at. She hadn't laughed because she'd wanted to, but because Wyatt had wanted her to. She'd laughed to make someone else happy, not herself.

Logan held Violet's gaze steadily, trying to fit any one piece of her puzzle together. One moment she cries, the next she screams, the next she makes immature argument, and then she smiles for the benefit of others. What _was_ this girl?

Becoming uncomfortable, Violet turned her head away, instead reaching across the table and taking a pomegranate from the fruit bowl there. She cut it in half on her plate, the red of its juice dripping like blood down her fingers. She licked it away, taking a few seeds to bring to her mouth and swallow.

Logan's hands tightened in reflex atop the table. She'd been _bating_ him. She'd _made_ him see the child in her. She'd wanted him to think her too immature to handle the responsibility he was throwing at her. She'd wanted him to send her home because he thought she was a terrified child, and not what he was looking for. But she was no child; young maybe, impulsive and hot-headed, but no child. A child could not survive this kind of atmosphere; could not put on a happy face and smile and laugh and bond with kidnappers. They would lock themselves in their rooms and not come out.

But Violet, oh Violet was earning everyone's trust, and she'd use it as an out the moment she could if her guise toward Logan didn't work.

While the others were busy with conversation and stuffing their mouths full of breads and meats and fruits, Logan leaned over the small space separating him and Violet, lips close enough to her ear he could almost taste her skin. "I'm not going to play games with you, little girl." She froze in the motions of cutting deeper into the pomegranate. "You're not getting out of here; so stop trying to."

With that, he straightened back into his chair and grabbed an apple from the fruit basket, taking a crisp bite out of it and smiling at Violet. For her part, she looked blatantly confused, and then her expression fell and she looked toward her plate, juice dripping down the rim to stain the white tablecloth with blood.


	19. The Necklace

**a/n**: just wanted to let everyone know there are scenes of sexual nature after the first break. if you aren't comfortable with reading such things, you can just ask me to give you a pg-13ish summary no problem. Anyone under the age of fifteen probably shouldn't be reading this fic anyways; I'd be corrupting your young minds.

Also, I have a question for you guys: do the small ideals of feminism i've tried to incorporate into this story have had decent effect? one of the big things I wanted this fic to accomplish was breaking traditional standards of girl going along with what others tell her to do just because they have the leg up on her. just a question; be brutally honest. Thanks guys.

* * *

"I'm _telling you_ Albany, Violet did _not_ leave," Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

It'd been two weeks, and the only word he'd received from Violet was a letter saying she hadn't wanted to leave, yet she had had no choice. That didn't make sense. Violet was very articulate and always clearly made her point on serious issues, but that letter had been…

Danny had considered for a moment maybe she'd gone off the deep end, and that had been why she'd left. But in that letter, she'd said she'd wanted to come home. If Violet really wanted something, then she made it happen. She wouldn't stay away; she'd just come back.

And she wouldn't, _couldn't_ have left him in the first place. The day their mother had went crazy, when they had no one left but each other; Violet had looked at Danny and said, "I will never leave you. Not by choice. And if something happens, I will _always_ come back."

And if she wanted to come back, she would have.

For her part, Albany simply shook her head sadly at Danny's comment and sat a plate of half-cooked fish sticks in front of the boy. He stared at them with a wrinkled nose; Albany was funny and gorgeous and charming, but seriously inept when it came to cooking. And geography; she'd always complained about how much she sucked at it.

Danny poked a one of the fish sticks and swore he saw it move as Albany sat down across from him at the kitchen table.

"I would scarcely believe it myself," Albany said, biting into the granola bar she'd taken from the snack cabinet. They'd gone to get groceries yesterday and Albany had went ahead and bought some of the things she liked to keep at the house, considering she was over whenever not at work or with her boyfriend these days. Danny's unofficial babysitter, of sorts. "But, Danny, she dropped class, she quit her job, she packed her bags, she even set up a transfer account. She doesn't have a credit card; we can't trace it. She's not withdrawing from the accounts, just transferring money from a bank chain. Unless you get records, we're not going to know where she is. She obviously just had to get away for a while, kid.

"I mean, you read her note– it has nothing to do with you. Violet's under a lot of pressure all the time, we both know that. I'd give her another couple of weeks and she'll be back, right when you're headed back to school. She wouldn't miss that."

"She wouldn't miss _anything_!" Danny insisted, pounding a fist down on the table. "Not without telling us, Albany."

"She did tell us," Albany said, twirling a lock of her red hair. "In that first letter, and then the second one."

"She would have told us _before_ she left," Danny said irately. Like almost everyone else, Albany refused to see the foul play of this situation. She was in denial that there was something more than Violet taking a small vacation here. Danny had watched enough Law and Order to pick up on a fishy state of affairs, and in this case it wasn't just his lunch.

Albany seemed to consider his words for a moment, and then shook her head again dismissively. "But what else could have happened, kiddo? She was abducted by aliens?"

"No," Danny snorted. "She was _kidnapped_."

"By who?" Albany pulled a face, that adult _I-don't-believe-you-kid_ kind of face Danny had seen a million times before. "I mean, they covered their tracks pretty well then! And why would they be taking care of you too, Danny? Like, I mean, how are you getting money; how are the bills magically getting paid and money's still in your account, a lot more than usual, I must say. Wouldn't they be _asking_ for money so you could get Violet back instead? Plus, it's a wonder the cops haven't come back to put you in a group home. You told them your sister was missing, and that your aunt was coming soon, yeah, but don't you think they'd check considered you're a pretty young minor and your mom's unfit to care for you?"

"So what, Violet somehow told them not to come and look for me? Vi's smart, but not devious enough to pull one over on the cops," Danny said.

"Well how else then?" asked Albany with vexation. "I mean, shit, Danny. Don't you think your sister would've put up more of a struggle if she was kidnapped?"

Danny pondered the girl's words for a moment, before shouting out, "That's it!"

"What's it?" Albany asked, looking frantically around the room as if the answer were there somewhere.

"We need to look for _evidence_," Danny insisted, standing from the table. "If there was a struggle, then there has to be some! Come on!"

"We're going to look around the house?" Albany asked, brows knit together. "But what if your mom comes out…?" It'd been apparent since the woman's mental breakdown that Albany was more than weary around the Porter's mom.

"She won't," Danny assured. "I turned on Dancing with the Stars reruns. She should be occupied for a while."

With that, he dragged Albany off with him. First beginning in the living room, flipping over the couch cushions and looking under the rug. At one point he tried to convince her to dust for fingerprints on the coffee table, but the '_are you stupid?_' expression she gave him quickly marked that idea off the list. Next they looked over the stairs, Galanthias _mrow_ing for their attention the whole time.

The damn cat was still in a cast at this point; the vet appointment Danny had gone to was an open one, the caller having said their last name was Porter and that they had an injured cat and would be bringing it in the next day. He'd had Albany drive him there in her uncle's old pick-up, where they'd learned Galanthias had a fractured paw. Ever since the cast had been put on to prevent further injury, the cat hadn't shut up. Plus, Albany had chosen a pink wrapping for it. Danny hated pink.

"What is it Lassie?" Albany asked Galanthias sarcastically. "Little Timmy's stuck in the well? Oh no."

"Dude, shut up," Danny said, nudging Albany with his elbow. "I think…I think she really is trying to tell us something…"

Danny followed Galanthias up the stairs, Albany rolling her eyes and heading after. The cat stopped in the doorway of Violet's bedroom, _mrow_ing as she went to the nightstand just shy of the doorway, batting her paw beneath it. Danny's brows creased as he knelt down to the cat's level and looked beneath the nightstand, blinking as something shiny caught his eye. It sat right along the lip of the nightstand, chain peeking out. Danny picked the object up, cursing as he wondered how he couldn't have noticed the necklace before.

Because it was not just any old necklace.

"Is that…?" Albany trailed off, leaving a hand pointed at the necklace in shock.

"Yeah," Danny whispered.

The necklace itself was simple– a golden chain with a golden wedding band slipped onto it as a charm. It had been Violet and Danny's grandmother's, on their father's side. Before she'd passed away six years ago, their Grams had given Violet the necklace as a sort of remembrance.

Grams had been the one to inspire Violet's love of flowers, and the two had been very close before her passing. Because of this, Violet always kept the ring safe. She never, ever, _ever_ took it off. It was always on her person.

Violet would never, under any circumstances, leave the necklace behind. Danny remembered countless times when he had walked in on Violet, simply holding the necklace between her hands and staring at it sadly. Even if she had taken it off, she wouldn't have just left it lying on the _floor_.

Not voluntarily.

Before Albany could try and tell him his theories were wrong again, Danny ducked around her and ran down to his mother's room, throwing open the door and looking at the haggard woman, who in turn looked at nothing. "I want the truth," he said assertively, striding up to her side and showing her the necklace. "Violet wouldn't leave this. And even if she would, she'd tell me to keep it safe."

"Persephone never leaves the Underworld," his mother said.

"No!" Danny shouted, causing his mother to cringe. He knew Albany was standing in the doorway cautiously behind him, but he didn't care much what she thought of him right now. "Enough riddles, enough. Tell me where Violet is, Mom! What _happened_?"

His mother's head rolled lazily to face him, and she smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Death came to take her, and so she ran. But Death's master was quicker. He stole her away in a black chariot, to a land of sleeping giants." The grin split her face now, almost as if the skin would tear in half. "Persephone never leaves the Underworld."

Danny blinked, letting out a growl before leaving the woman's bedside, keeping the necklace in hand as he slammed the door shut behind himself. "I hate her," he said decisively as he stomped down the stairs, a nervous Albany on his heels.

"Danny, do you know about Hades and Persephone?" she asked.

Danny stopped once he had reached the living room, shaking his head and toying with the necklace as Galanthias jumped onto the couch back behind him. "No; mythology is you and Violet's thing."

Albany looked at him seriously, an expression often not found on the girl's face. "Hades was the God of the Underworld. Persephone was the Goddess of spring, and daughter of Demeter, Goddess of Harvest. Her mother kept the girl sheltered all her life at fear of losing her, but the entire time Hades spied on her from below. He fell in love with Persephone, and one day planted a flower, that the moment she picked it, it meant she'd agreed to be his bride.

"Hades rode from within the earth to the surface and took Persephone away in his black chariot to the Underworld, where he locked her away and…_raped_ her. She was to be his Queen. But old Demeter could not lose her daughter; when Helios, God of the Sun, told her what had happened, she went to Zeus, King of the Gods, and demanded her daughter back. Zeus said he couldn't grant the wish because Persephone was now married to Hades, and in law of the Gods that meant she belonged to him.

"Outraged, Demeter said she would take her grief out upon the humans, and so she turned the world to ice where no crops were allowed to grow. The humans began to die, and Zeus, fearing the loss of his worshipers, conceded to give Demeter her daughter back. He sent Hermes, the Messenger God, to the Underworld to retrieve Persephone. But not before sly Hades had her eat six small pomegranate seeds. Because, you see, when you eat the fruit of the Underworld, you must remain there.

"Demeter would not have it, so Zeus brought Hades, Persephone and Demeter to council where he came to the conclusion that because she'd only eaten six pomegranate seeds, Persephone would remain with Hades in the Underworld for six months of the year, and spend the other six on earth with her mother, Demeter. It's where we get the legend of spring from. Demeter kills all in the winter when Persephone is gone in the Land of the Dead, and she revives it when Persephone comes back to her in the spring."

Danny blinked, taking everything Albany had said in. He'd come to realize over the years she was very book smart, but such a dunce when it came to common sense most of the time that when the girl spoke prolifically it always shocked him. "What…what does this have to do with Violet?"

Albany bit her lip. "Your mother mentioned Hades taking Persephone; a metaphor. A man must have taken her…or one of his associates, as your mother mentioned Death, who works for Hades." Albany paused a moment, taking a deep breath and then frowning. "Of course, this could all be a load of crock shit. Your mother is insane after all."

"But why would Violet leave this?" Danny asked, holding up the necklace. It sparkled in the afternoon light. "At least, out in the open, without telling me to look after it…"

"I don't know," Albany said honestly. "Look, Danny, I'm not saying she was kidnapped but I'm also not saying she wasn't. We can talk to the police again, if you want?"

"They didn't believe me the last time," Danny sighed, running a hand down his face. "I mean, who else can we talk to?"

Both parties were quiet for a moment after that, Danny feeling dejected and Albany thinking pensively. "A land of the giants," Albany said at last. "Do you think there is such a place referenced with that…?"

"Google?" Danny asked, perking up.

This whole idea was completely insane, but even Albany agreed that Violet wouldn't leave that necklace, and the way she'd run off had been so _un_-Violet-like, especially when she'd made plans with Albany the very night she'd left… With a heavy sigh, Albany nodded to Danny, who dove for Violet's laptop which had sat untouched on the coffee table for two weeks. More than likely this would lead to nothing, but then Danny Googled the phrase; and it lead to _something_ instead.

* * *

She let out a heavy gasp as she felt a weight pressed into her back, warm and unyielding as she tried to pull away. Her eyes remained fixed on the great bed before her. She did not have to see him to know him. "Do not fight me, love."

With a groan, she relaxed into his embrace. "Why must you make it so difficult for me to hate you?"

"Because you don't hate me," he whispered, lips ghosting down the line of her neck. "You don't hate me, _Persephone_…"

"But I must," she said, shivering under his touch as his hands moved up from her sides to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the stiff peaks in sensation she dare not make a sound about. "I am not here of my own choice…"

"You are in my bedchambers of your own choice," he said, sucking at the place above her collarbone to leave a dark bruise there. "As you were two nights ago, and the last, when you let me fuck you with my hands and tongue."

"Don't say such things," she hissed, her cheeks heating. "I'm a lady, damn it."

He chuckled into her skin, one hand leaving her breast to travel lower, lower. The shift she wore barely gave coverage, so when his fingers ran slowly along sensitive flesh she whined, pushing back against his embrace as if to escape. Instead his arms came to encircle her, hips grinding into her backside as he breathed against her cheek, breath warm and wet.

"You're as much a lady as I'm a gentleman," he cooed, suddenly twisting her in his embrace so her back was now to the bed. "And a gentleman doesn't take unmarried women to his bed."

"Are you calling me a whore?" she asked, no malice, just a simple question.

"No," he promised, reaching out to tangle strands of her hair between her fingers. "I'm calling you a stubborn girl who won't accept my offer, despite giving herself to me, and even admitting to, dare I say, _liking_ me every now and again."

"I think I'd like you more if you let me go home," she said, glaring at him.

"But how would I ever expect you back, love?" he asked, eyes so full of skepticism and longing it secretly broke her heart.

"You'd have to trust me," she whispered, closing the small space between them.

"And you'd have to trust me first," he said, mouth inches from hers.

"Never."

The kiss they shared was one of passion, all teeth tongue and lips. Her skin was on fire wherever he touched. One moment her shrift was there, the next it was not. He pushed her back onto the bed, entering her without warning. She gasped in shock, followed with a yelp as he pulled out and thrust back in, again and again, capturing her lips with his to devour her cries.

"_Hades_," she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Say it again," he groaned, hips moving persistently into hers. "Say my name again."

"Hades," she whimpered, melting under his touch. "Hades, Hades, _Hades_…"

* * *

Violet awoke with a start, clutching at her chest as if it would stop her heart from beating out of it. Once there would have been a necklace there, but no longer.

She threw off the covers, moving to the edge of the bed and gasping for breath. _What_ _was _that_? _she thought to herself hazily, moving to stand and falling back against the bed again once, twice, three times before she finally found her footing.

The nightgown she wore was covered in sweat, and she felt sticky and warm between her thighs. Rarely did she have dreams of such a pleasant nature, especially ones so _vivid_. It had been nothing but nightmares for years, leaving her insides hollow with fear. Tonight, she felt her insides hollow with _need_.

Shaking her head, Violet stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. When she looked up into the mirror she could see her hair was a mess, sticking to her neck and face. She brushed it away, trying to tuck some strands back into the braids she'd left in from this afternoon.

After the torturous lunch with Logan, she'd retired to her bedroom with such anxiety she had felt as if she was going to had a panic attack, which wasn't uncommon for her. Instead she'd puked, and then had cried some more, and then she'd cut herself with a knife she'd taken from the kitchen to relieve her nerves, then had cried some more again because the cuts weren't helping the way she wanted them to, and she'd made herself puke some more and had gotten snot all over her cardigan sleeves, and then had sat glowering at the bedroom door and telling everyone who had knocked to _go away_.

She knew she was being petulant and childish, but at this point she did not care. Logan had been all of rude to her, demeaning and bordering on sexually harassing her. His condescending demeanor had been enough to knock her ego down a couple ofrungs on the short ladder it already sat, which had boiled her blood, not to mention the fact how he _still _wouldn't tell her why she was really here. She'd rather he'd of just said he was her personal stalker, than that she 'needed to help him' and all of that other bullshit.

And then, at lunch, when he had told her he wasn't going to play games, she'd had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, Violet wasn't completely truthful when she interacted with everyone in the house. Her happy nature she showed to them was half a ruse, but that was because Violet was naturally _nice_ and it took too much effort to be angry all of the time. Having no freedom was draining enough. But yes, she'd earned Wyatt's trust to earn the others' so she could get out, but she had no idea how she could even use it to get away anymore. As she'd said to Logan in his office, even if she did manage to slip over the walls undetected, it wasn't like she knew how to get through the forest.

And she sure as hell hadn't played games with Logan. She'd been snippy and immature, yes, but in that moment she couldn't help herself. All she had wanted to do was yell and curse at him, call him a lying bastard and damn him to the deepest depths of hell. It had taken all of her composure just to manage the questions she had asked him, the contrite comments she had made.

It wasn't a game; it was a desperate girl trying to find an out from this insane house, where everyone believed kidnapping to be perfectly fine as long as used for good intention, but wouldn't tell her what that good intention was.

Sighing, Violet headed out of the bathroom and back toward her bed, when suddenly she heard the sound of the bedroom door's handle jiggling. Posture rigid, she watched as the door creaked open slowly, revealing the blackness of the hall behind it.

"Hello?" Violet asked softly, left with nothing but silence.

She walked over to the door, peeking her head into the hall with caution. Oh God, what if Logan really was a serial killer and this was his way of riling her up before chopping her into little pieces? Just as she was about to slam the door shut and find a way to lock it from the inside, Violet caught glimpse of a waify form down the hall to her left.

"Myrtle?" Violet squinted in the darkness, the window at the end of the hall illuminating Myrtle's slight frame and silver hair. The old woman's back was to her, but Violet could clearly see as she raised her arm, motioning for Violet to follow after.

_I'm going to regret this_, Violet thought to herself as she silently stepped into the hall, trying her best to catch up to Myrtle as she moved to the stairs that led to the second floor.

"Where are we going?" Violet asked as they took the steps soundlessly, the old wood giving no protest under their weight at they usually would.

Myrtle said nothing, kept walking down, down into the entry foyer. Violet continued to follow, looking this way and that for anyone else who was awake. It had to be an ungodly hour, from how pitch black the house was. But Myrtle was finding her way just fine, taking the hall that led toward the ballroom, if Violet remembered correctly.

It was in the middle of said hall that Violet lost the old woman. "Myrtle?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. Evangeline's bedroom was in this corridor and Violet didn't want to wake her. "Myrtle?"

From down the hall, Violet heard soft music filtering through the air. Curiosity caught the best of her, and she followed it down into the ballroom. She hadn't been in here much since being brought to the Fairgrave house. It was too grand and intimidating, with murals of ancient scenes on the wall between marble pillars.

Violet looked to the piano where she expected to find Myrtle playing the haunting tune, only to see nothing there. Slowly, oh so slowly, Violet walked over to the piano and stopped at the bench, about to reach out and touch the keys when the music came to an abrupt halt.

"Spirits get restless around this hour."

_Spirits?_

Gasping, Violet spun to face the person behind her, hands clenching into fists. "You– you scared me."

"I scare a lot of people," Logan shrugged, stepping out of the shadows and closer to her. He hadn't changed from the suit he'd been wearing earlier in the day. His shoes and tie were still on, even though the latter had been loosened more so than it had been the last time she'd seen him. Had he even been to bed yet?

"Being a psychopath tends to cause that side effect," Violet said softly, backing into the piano as Logan began to invade her personal space.

"Did you ever stop to consider," Logan said, pausing to wipe a sweaty tendril of hair from her face, "that maybe I'm not a psychopath, and you're here for a good reason?"

"No," Violet said.

Logan sighed, keeping his hand on the side of her face as he tried to steadily hold her gaze. "You're going to have to trust me, Violet."

"Never," she said, just like she had in her dream.

As if he knew her thoughts, Logan blinked, taking a step back from her and breaking contact. A small breath escaped as his lips parted, eyes searching hers for something. She didn't know what he wanted, but obviously he hadn't found it, because he instead cleared his throat, looking to the floor.

"I don't know how you got out of your room," he finally said. "But you should go back…and shower."

Violet knit her brows together.

"I can smell how aroused you are, Violet," Logan said, shocking her. The skin of her cheeks and chest turned such a bright red she thought she'd been burned. She wasn't even turned on right now, _how could he…?_ "You may want to get the scent off of you before I do something we'll both regret."

"What?" she asked, completely and utterly confused.

"You're intoxicating," Logan said simply, without emotion like it was a business proposition. "And I don't believe you'd like to lose your virginity by being fucked over the edge of a piano, however excited you are at the moment."

Violet felt as if her skin could not get any redder from how embarrassed she felt. "How did you know I'm…" she shook her head, taking a step away from him. "It isn't because of you, y'know," she said, not wanting to give him the justice of it. "It was just a dream."

With that, she turned on her heel and headed back the way she'd come, but not before she heard Logan murmur under his breath, "Not a dream, love, but a memory."


	20. The Symbol

**a/n**: hey everyone i just wanted to say thanks again for all your enthusiasm and encouragement. also, if you check my profile, there's a link to the layout of logan's house now up. It isn't the greatest drawing ever, but it gives the basics. Also, any criticisms or points in the plot you feel don't match up so far, _please_ let me know. thank you.

* * *

The next time Violet saw Logan again, it was Tuesday.

She steadfastly avoided him all of Monday after their little…encounter the night before. It wasn't hard considering he was in and out of the house all day dealing with business affairs. Violet remembered that day in the coffee place, where he'd told her he dealt with the shipping of coffins and essentials for prepping the dead.

It took the ideal of psychopath to a whole new level for her.

The only time she left her room that day was when Wyatt begged her to come and watch a movie with him in the entertainment room. She agreed, extremely surprised by the sight that awaited her eagerly on the couch.

"Is that a dog?" she asked.

At the mention of the word _dog_, the canine's head perked up. It was pretty, and young. Maybe a couple of months, a year, Violet figured. It looked like a cross between a retriever and a greyhound, long limbs and golden tufted hair; angled snout and floppy, soft ears.

"That's _your_ dog," Wyatt grinned.

"Mine?"

"Yeah. Uncle L. got 'er for ya," Wyatt said.

Logan had gotten her a _dog_. What even in hell…?

"She was supposed to be in your room waitin' for you after lunch, but she got out and I found her wondering around the house," Wyatt shrugged. "You uh, wouldn't open your door for anyone so I just kinda kept 'er with me last night. Needy little thing."

Violet blushed at the mention of her childish behavior from the past day. "I'm sorry about being so petty, Wyatt."

"No," he rushed to reassure. "I get it. That was a lot to take in yesterday. I didn't know ya'd met him before."

She nodded, walking slowly over to the dog and letting the little thing sniff her hand with a wet nose. "Only twice. We went for coffee and talked a bit the second time, but that was about the gist of it." The dog whined, baying for attention.

Wyatt sighed. "I'm sorry Vi; sorry this ever happened. If I could change it, I would."

Violet looked at him then, leaving her hand on top of the dog's head as it licked her wrist. "Don't say things you don't mean, Wyatt."

They watched a movie– _Psycho_ because Wyatt loved old horror movies as much as he liked campy ones. Violet sat there quietly with the dog's head in her lap. She'd thought it would be more attached to Wyatt after having spent its first night in the house with him, but it wasn't. At comment on the fact, Wyatt simply smirked at Violet and said, "She knows she's your dog. What are you gonna name her?" Violet shrugged, staring at the dog for a long time with its big, faithful eyes.

It wasn't until that night that Violet decided to call her Marea. The name of the dog that had belonged to Icarus. Marea had led Icarus's daughter to his slain body buried under a tree. She'd been venerated with a star. The name fit; Violet didn't know why but it fit.

Marea slept with her in bed all night, curled atop the covers against Violet's side, letting off soft snores. Before she fell asleep, Violet glanced at the dog's collar. It was a thick, brown leather with a golden tag engraved with a symbol she hadn't seen before. It was Greek, she knew as much by the shape of it, but her sketchy skills on reading the language aided no hand to identify the tag's meaning. It did however lend to verify that Marea was in fact the perfect name for the dog.

When Violet woke up in the morning, it was to Marea whining and pawing at the door. Violet wiped a hand across the back of her eyes and sat up, stretching her limbs and stepping out of bed. It was only six-fifteen by the alarm clock on her nightstand (doubled as an iPod doc at the insistence of Evangeline after Thaddeus had sheepishly brought Violet a suitcase full of her things he'd taken from her house the night she'd been kidnapped, including her iPod) and usually the rest of the house wasn't alert until seven-thirty.

Violet sighed; it was obvious Marea needed to go to the bathroom, but more than likely the bedroom door wouldn't be unlocked yet. She gave it a try anyways, pleasantly surprised to find it opened. Had Myrtle come in the middle of the night with a key again? Blinking away the thought, Violet pushed the door open and let Marea out, the dog barking happily as she hopped toward the stairs in the middle of the hall.

"Shh," Violet hissed. "We can't wake anyone up."

As if she understood, Marea stopped barking, instead wagging her tail and waiting to walk again until Violet began trailing behind. Violet had never had a dog before. Both she and Danny had always wanted one, but with a Boston townhouse it wasn't very possible. Albany had had a dog once, when they were little. It was a cocker spaniel named Townser who loved nothing more than to sit on people's laps and have his stomach rubbed. He'd died when the girls were twelve, and they'd buried him in Albany's backyard complete with his name painted on a rock as a sort of headstone.

Marea didn't seem like the average dog to Violet though. After the movie yesterday, she'd brought the dog up to her room and conversed with it quietly, telling her what a pretty, sweet dog she was and apologizing for having to stick Marea in this situation with her. The dog had looked as if she genuinely _understood_ Violet's sorrow.

The pair made it downstairs pretty quickly. Violet imagined her best bet at this point was to go to Thaddeus' room and ask him to unlock the kitchen doors so she could take Marea out. Ever since the incident in the basement Violet was…weary to go to Evangeline. She'd managed to convince herself it was just a hallucination, but she was still uncomfortable alone with the woman. And it's not like Wyatt would rouse with the key code unless Violet drop-kicked him (the kid slept like the dead) and Chad lived in the pool house which was already outside. And Violet sure as hell wasn't going to ask Logan to help her; she didn't even know where his room was or if he'd be there.

Instead she took the hall from the entry foyer and headed toward the kitchen, which lead to the hall Thaddeus' room was in. It would've been easier just to come through the entertainment room, but Marea had been hell bent on the main stairs.

"Silly puppy," Violet said, petting her head.

Violet was about to steer the dog down the next hall when suddenly Marea ran into the kitchen, beginning to bark happily again. "No, Marea!" Violet said, scrambling after the dog. She froze in the doorway when she saw Marea run over to Logan, who was leaning against the kitchen counter in nothing but a t-shirt and sleep pants, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. There were eggs and something else cooking on the stove, and Violet could also smell bacon sizzling, too.

Logan set his coffee mug down when Marea sat at his feet and whined, bending down to pet the dog on the head. "She's eight months, in case you were wondering."

Cringing at the fact he'd noticed her, Violet stepped farther into the room and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She'd traded off the flimsy nightdresses for thermals and cotton shorts after her little run-in with him the other night. Usually she wore these things during the day, but she was willing to double up on laundry, considering she'd insisted on washing her own clothes when Evangeline had said a maid usually did such chores. Violet didn't like being waited on; it felt wrong, even if she was a guest in the house. Albeit, a forced one, but a guest nonetheless.

"Why'd you get me a dog?" Violet asked as Logan moved to the French doors in the room, opening one so Marea could run outside and do her business.

Logan shrugged as he left the door cracked, summer morning heat creeping in. "Evangeline said you weren't feeling too uppity. Thought it may help."

"Uppity?" Violet asked, raising a brow with speculation. "I'm so very sorry that being kidnapped and held here against my will has made me not so _uppity_. I shall try to be more pleasant for your sake."

Giving her a condescending smirk, Logan pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit. "You need breakfast," he said.

"I'll eat with everyone else."

"No you won't. You haven't been eating at all. You're skinnier than the last time I saw you. You look like a corpse."

"You do so know how to flatter a lady," Violet murmured under her breath as she sat in the chair he'd offered, slumping down with her arms still crossed. "I don't suppose there's toast?"

"Better yet," Logan said, setting a plate in front of her. "Pancakes." They were accompanied with eggs and bacon, followed by a glass of orange juice he set at her side.

His breakfast was much the same, only he'd poured himself more coffee, too. There was syrup and margarine on the table, which Logan used both of. Violet stuck with the former; she didn't like margarine, only real butter.

When she took a hesitant bite of her pancakes she was expecting not to be impressed, but they ended up tasting pretty decent. Not as good as the ones Danny made on Sunday mornings– the one thing he could cook without burning– but still good. She took another, larger bite this time and chased it down with a drink of orange juice.

"I'm about good," she said after a small bite of her eggs and a nibble of her bacon. "Full."

Logan looked at her then, already finished with half of the three pancakes he'd had on his plate. His bacon was nearly gone too. "Stop bullshitting around, Violet. Eat."

Glaring, Violet took another bite from the pancakes and chewed snippily, making a show of swallowing the food just to be petulant. It was about that time Marea came back through the doors, sitting down in the space between Logan and Violet's chairs at the table. She was panting, but looked as if she was smiling all the same.

Violet watched as Logan gave the dog a piece of bacon, which Marea hungrily ate. "I thought dogs weren't supposed to have table scraps?" Violet questioned softly.

At that, Logan laughed and scratched Marea behind the ears. "That's like denying humans sweets," he said, giving Violet a smile which, for once, was not condescending. "There's dog food in the cupboard, though. Use any bowl you want when you feed her. Doesn't matter."

Nodding, Violet gave Marea a bite of her pancakes and giggled as the dog licked the syrup from her snout. When Violet looked up, she noticed Logan was staring at her. "What? Do I have syrup on my face too?" she reached up self-consciously, but he shook his head.

"You're good," he said, glancing away.

Giving him a confused expression, Violet ate more of her eggs as Logan finished off his plate, moving to the sink to wash everything off and put it in the drying wrack. "I thought you had maids that did that," Violet said offhandedly as Logan grabbed a bowl from one of the cabinets, going over to the pantry to fill it with dog food for Marea.

"Why make them do extra work when I have the time to do it?" Logan asked, filling another bowl with water to set down next to the one Marea was hungrily scarfing her food from. He then came back over to the table and sat in his chair again, simply watching Violet as she ate and drinking his coffee silently.

"I still really hate you, y'know?" Violet said eventually, taking a small sip of her orange juice and not meeting his eye. "You tricked me."

"I didn't _trick_ you," Logan said. "I didn't even lie to you."

"You said you were in town on business!"

"You _are_ my business," he said simply, tapping his fingers against the table. "The stay was supposed to be longer, and I was supposed to…_talk_ to you more, but something came up."

"Private psychopath meeting?" Violet mumbled, mouth full of pancake.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head at her. "I thought you were shier than this."

"Usually I am," Violet said in complete honestly. "But being kidnapped drives people to do crazy things."

Both were silent after that, and Violet finished her breakfast, half tempted to lick the plate clean just to be snippy toward him. Instead she brought it over to the sink to wash it, full and satisfied and wanting to puke. "You didn't poison anything, did you?" she said as she was washing her fork.

"Shouldn't you have asked that before you ate?"

Violet shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't be the worst way to die."

"And what would be the worst way to die, then?"

Sighing, Violet finished rinsing her plate and set it in the drying wrack. By now Marea had finished her bowl of kibble and was by Violet's side again, eager to do some new activity. But Violet remained at the sink, giving Logan a critical eye. For his part, he simply gazed back at her curiously.

"Dying without saying goodbye to the people you love," she finally answered, arms wrapped around herself once more.

"Like your brother?" Logan asked.

"Don't," she warned. "Don't even go there. You don't get to talk about him ever again."

Logan held his hands up defensively. "As you wish."

"It was more endearing when Wesley said that in the Princess Bride," Violet murmured, snapping for Marea to follow her as she began to leave the kitchen. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Violet," Logan said before she could fully leave. Grudgingly, she turned back to face him. "I want to speak with you in my office this afternoon."

"When?"

"Thaddeus will come and get you; we have a meeting at one and I don't know how long it'll last."

"Fine," Violet said, and she left.

For the rest of the morning she waited around with Wyatt until the tutor came, so Violet took Marea outside with Chad to play fetch and teach the dog to roll over. Chad was pretty enamored with Marea, asking if he could play with her longer while Violet walked around the property. It'd become apparent that everyone trusted her enough not to run by now. And it was probably with good reason; even if she _did_ somehow get through the woods, found a road, God knows how far away she was from civilization.

Instead of looking for an escape route she went to the west edge of the house, almost astounded when she found a path winding through an area _full_ of flowers. They spilled everywhere to the brim, with a few willow trees here and there, a pond at the very back resting against one of the walls that surrounded the property. Violet sat there, breathing in the air and pretending she was somewhere good for a while, until Chad came calling for lunch.

Neither Logan nor Thaddeus were there, even though it was still thirty minutes before one. Violet didn't much mind of course, though the table was silent without Thaddeus' corny jokes. Instead she talked to Wyatt about how tutor was going– "Boring as shit," he said– and fed Marea half of her turkey sandwich, as well as a couple of chips and bites of apple.

"You're going to make her fat," Chad warned.

"She'll be fine, won't you girl?" Violet asked, and the dog barked happily, lying on the floor at her feet.

After, she did laundry with Evangeline, who tried not to notice how uncomfortable Violet had become around her. And then Violet went into the sitting room to read in the sunlight, while Myrtle sat there and knit– what she did most of the days– and Marea napped.

Then Thaddeus was in the room, motioning for Violet to follow. Marea was still sleeping so Violet left her there, Myrtle saying she'd take care of the "rabbit" as she'd taken to calling the dog. Violet didn't mind; the old lady could be endearing when she wasn't luring Violet off through dark hallways in the middle of the night.

"Thaddeus?" Violet asked as they were going up the stairs towards Logan's office.

"Yeah, queeny?"

"That night, when I was in the club with Logan… Was that you in the booth, when we first came up?"

Thaddeus went stiff for a moment, then looked at her from the corner of his eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

"I don't know how I didn't recognize you at my house."

Thaddeus smirked as they came to the door of Logan's office, knocking. Someone called _come in_ from the other side. "You were a bit too enamored at the club to get a good look at me," Thaddeus said as he held the door open for Violet.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, drawing her brows together mildly irritated.

Laughing, Thaddeus simply closed the door behind her once she was inside.

She looked to the back of the room, where Logan was sitting behind his desk, a pair of reading glasses on as he looked down at papers scattered in front of him. He'd traded his pajamas for a simple Henley and jeans, much like he'd worn that day they'd gone for coffee together. _The same night he kidnapped me_, Violet thought, not moving from where she stood.

"You can sit down, Violet," Logan said without looking up at her.

She crinkled her nose, choosing one of the leather backed chairs in front of his desk to sit in. It was a good five minutes of silence then, Violet looking to the greenhouse with longing eyes. In the fall she was supposed to start field studies, where she'd get to go to natural parks and do logs on the growth of the plants there. Who knows if she could ever do that now?

Finally, Logan stopped what he does doing and took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk and rubbing at the hollows of his eyes. "When is your birthday, exactly?"

"Don't you know?" Violet asked haughtily. He just gave her a blank sort of look, and she sighed. "September twelfth," she said. "I'll be twenty-one."

"Morning or night?"

"Dawn," she said. "Six o'clock exactly."

Logan nodded, pursing his lips and scribbled something down on a notepad. "What'd you name the dog?" he asked as he continued writing; what he was writing, Violet had no idea.

"Marea," Violet said softly. "It was the dog of Icarus."

"Which led his daughter to his buried corpse." Logan looked up at Violet, eyes intense. "Her star sits next to that of Sirius. Although, Marea was a Molosser, not a mixed breed."

"Where did you get her?" Violet asked, looking away from his gaze shyly.

"A friend called Diana. She rescues stray and mistreated animals until she can find them new homes. She's had Marea since birth."

"What's the symbol on her collar mean?"

"Protection," Logan said. "It's Greek."

"It isn't any Greek I've ever seen."

"That's because it's very old Greek," Logan said, flipping the notepad to a clean page. He quickly drew the symbol, a mix of sharp edges and crooked angles, but by script obviously Greek. "Depending on the way you turn it, you'll see one of four symbols. Look at it now, what do you see?"

Violet squinted at the image, her eyes adjusting past the trickery the symbol proved. "A torch."

"For Demeter," Logan said. "Caretaker of the earth." He turned the image another way. "And now what do you see?"

"A trident," Violet said softly.

"Poseidon, master of the oceans," Logan nodded. Another turn of the paper. "And now?"

"A thunderbolt."

"Zeus, ruler of the skies." One last turn. "And?"

"A key," Violet said, her voice dropped to a whisper. "For Hades, keeper of the Underworld."

Logan nodded. "It's said to give the holder protection in all realms. Earth, water, air, fire."

"But the Underworld is not just full of fire," Violet said. "It's beautiful too."

"It's lonely," Logan said, not taking his eyes from hers.

Violet blinked, but held his gaze just as steadily. "The other night, when you said that the…the _spirits_ get restless, what did you mean?"

Logan chuckled, leaning back in his chair languidly. "Don't tell me you don't believe in ghosts, Violet."

"I do," she said. "Are you trying to say the house is haunted?"

"I'm trying say _we're_ haunted. All of us in this house."

Violet blinked. "By who?"

"I think you mean by _what_." Logan said. "And the answer to that, sweet one, is we are haunted by the _past_."


	21. The Land of the Sleeping Giant

"Albany, _hurry up_!"

"Hold your horses, twerp. I'm trying to read the map here."

Danny gave an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking down into his seat. It was a miracle the old pick-up had even made it out of Boston, let alone all the way to Connecticut. Right now Albany and Danny were at a rest stop, Danny having had to piss like a racehorse after downing two bottles of Gatorade on the ride. Albany was eating a candy bar and staring at a map from beneath her Lady Gaga looking sunglasses, smacking her lips with every chew.

Danny was insistent that they make it to Hamden, Connecticut, Land of the Sleeping Giant, soon.

When Danny had typed the phrase his mother had uttered into the Google search tab, the official website of Hamden had popped up (well, underneath China, but he figured that was a stretch). Apparently it was Hamden's town motto. And it was the only lead that Danny had on Violet. It'd taken nearly a week for Danny to convince Albany to take him here, and she'd only given in today because she'd broken up with her boyfriend the night before and wanted to get out of town for a while.

Danny's aunt wasn't coming until the end of next week– Albany had made him call the woman, though Danny really hadn't wanted to– and he didn't start school for another two. Albany had the weekend off from work, so that meant they'd spend the day wondering around Hamden asking strangers if they'd seen Violet, or finding possible clues in general.

"I still say this is a lost cause," Albany said, taking a drink from Danny's bottle of Mountain Dew he'd bought from one of the rest stop's vending machines without his permission. He scowled. "I mean, how can we say she was _really_ kidnapped Danny? Don't you think the cops would've been more involved?"

"The Boston PD are _morons_," Danny scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You could show them a bag of cocaine and they'd think it was powdered sugar."

Albany gave him a dead kind of look, shaking her head as she glanced at the map again. "Okay, so maybe Violet _is_ here. But what if she actually told your mom where she was going or something?"

"And not me?" Danny asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Come on, Albany."

"Fine," the girl said, tossing her red braid over her shoulder. "But don't get your hopes up, kid."

Danny frowned as Albany started the truck up and drove back onto the interstate, staring down at his hands which were once again fiddling with Violet's necklace. There was no way she would have left without telling him. Not his big sister. Not the girl who used to look for monsters in his closet and sing him lullabies when their mother couldn't anymore. Not the girl who helped him at junior soccer practice, and made baking soda volcanoes with him for the science fair. Not Violet; his big sister would never leave him.

_Right?_

They made it to Hamden twenty minutes later. It wasn't a city, but it also was a bit too large to be a town. They stopped in the middle of the place, Albany parking the truck and staring around with a skeptical eye. "You wanna get lunch, before we start searching?"

Danny's stomach grumbled at the thought. "Yeah…"

They chose a nearby McDonalds and sat in the truck and ate, Danny scarfing his cheeseburger and half his fries by the time Albany was done with only half her McChiken. "These are worse than I remembered," she said, staring at the sandwich with a frown. "One time when we were eight, Vi and I made a bet to see who could eat the most McNuggets. I won, of course. But I was also the one to puke afterward, while Vi just sat on the bathroom sink and tried not to giggle as Uncle Harry fussed over me getting McNugget chunks on the floor."

"Charming story while I'm eating," Danny smirked, ketchup still on his teeth. "I remember once when the whole house had the stomach flu. I was like, seven I think. The first one that recovered from it was Vi, and she made us all chicken soup without the chicken or the noodles so they wouldn't come back up through our noses or anything."

"She was smart like that."

"_Is_," Danny said, turning to glare at Albany.

"What?" the girl asked in confusion.

"Vi _is_ smart like that. You said she _was_. She isn't dead, Albany. She isn't."

"I know!" Albany quickly stammered. "It was just the wrong tense, alright? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, Danny."

"'s okay," the boy sighed, picking a piece of lint off his jeans.

"I miss her too, y'know?" Albany asked, setting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I mean, it's only been three weeks and all, but she was such a constant it's weird not to have her there."

"Tell me about it," Danny mumbled. "I never realized how bad Ma is until she left. Violet always took care of us, and without her…" Danny could feel the bite of tears at the back of his eyes. He sniffled and wiped a hand across them, looking away. "I just want her to come home."

If he'd been looking at her, he would have seen Albany's expression pull into one of heartbreak, an expression the girl never really showed to anyone but Violet. "She will come home, Danny," Albany promised. "I know she will."

The boy nodded, even though he still felt like he was going to start sobbing any moment. To try and distract himself, he looked up out of the window… And swore under his breath. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?" Albany asked, tensing. "What is it?"

"That guy!" Danny said, pointing to a hulking figure strolling across the street in front of the truck. "That guy was there the day Vi left! He came up to my friends and I 'cause…" Danny trailed off, staring with wide eyes as the man began walking languidly down the sidewalk. "Well, I mean, he was _there_! How come he was in Boston on that _exact_ day, and now all of a sudden when my mom says to come here, he's _here_?"

Albany simply blinked at Danny for a moment, before throwing open the driver's door of the truck and getting out. "What are you doing?" Danny asked. She motioned for him to follow as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

"I've got questions for him," she said, retching Danny's door open and pulling him out before slamming it closed. "Come on!"

Both of them took off down the sidewalk after the man, who took the next crosswalk toward a grassy knoll with stores on the other side. Of course Albany and Danny would arrive just as it was traffic's turn to go. The wait didn't take long, and then they were sprinting after the man again. Danny was sure it was him– the broad shoulders, easy-going demeanor, brown and gray hair. And he was wearing the same freaking sunglasses he had on that day, charging over to Danny's group of friends and calling them _dumb kids_ and asking things like _didn't your ma ever teach you that drugs are bad for you?_ And stuff like that.

"Hey!" Danny called after him, to get the man's attention. "You in the suit!"

There were a couple of guys in suits walking around them; it was lunchtime after all. But the specific guy Danny and Albany were after turned. The moment he caught glimpse of Danny's face though, he whipped his head back around and his pace began to pick up. Albany glanced to Danny, who glanced to her and the two ran faster after the man, bumping into others on the sidewalk with half-hearted apologies and curses.

The guy they were following crossed another street, avoiding the vehicles passing easily while Danny and Albany nearly got hit at least eight separate times. Finally they made it to the sidewalk and stumbled to a store the guy had gone into just moments ago.

It was an antiques store, apparently. Cuckoo clocks and wardrobes and creepy paintings hung everywhere. The place was like a maze full of junk.

"Where'd he go?" Albany asked, panting.

Danny shook his head, sweat flying from his bangs. "I don't know…" He looked around the shop, the antique puppets hanging from the rafters and china vases on stands, before finally catching a glimpse of the guy's shoulder in a mirror across the aisle. "There!"

The two went after the guy, tripping over stray children's toys from the sixties, and lamps and footstools from the twenties. Danny caught a flash of the guy's back again as he headed down a set of dark, dark stairs. Both Danny and Albany stopped at the top of the staircase, looking at each other before they tentatively walked down them into a dark, damp basement that smelled like rotting wood.

"Where'd he go?" Albany whispered. This area of the store was even more crowded than the showing room above. A layer of dust covered everything and Danny resisted the urge not to sneeze. "It's so dark, I can't see jack shit."

"Me neither," Danny said, almost bumping into a crate of old, soggy books. "Shit, this place is disgusting."

"Say that after you've smelled your own room," Albany retorted, sidestepping over an old china doll that lay broken on the floor. "We need to split up or something. This place is huge."

"No _way_," Danny said. "Haven't you seen horror movies? That's how you get _killed_, dummy."

"Well, we're not making any progress like this!" Albany hissed, throwing up her hands and knocking something onto the floor. The sound of glass breaking echoed, making both of them freeze.

From above they could hear a man's voice calling, "_Hey! What are you kids doin' down there? That's a private area!_"

"Shit," Albany said.

"Fuck," Danny followed up with as they heard a new set of footsteps coming down the stairs.

The two ducked behind a large armoire, trying not to make any sound as the slumped down to the floor, looking around the sides of them for sight of the guy they'd come down here to find in the first place. When Albany caught a flash of light going over her and Danny's heads, followed by the sound of a _creak_ and a door shutting, she nudged Danny so he saw the sight just in time.

"There must be another way out," Danny whispered.

"Shh," Albany warned as footsteps came their way, before abruptly turning in another direction.

The two waited another minute or so as they heard the shop owner stumble into something and curse, shouting out he was going to call the cops before heading back upstairs.

Slowly, Danny and Albany moved toward the back of the room, finding an old door there. They both sighed in relief as Albany reached up from where they were crouching on the floor, opening it so she and Danny could rush outside. They found themselves in an alcove carved down into the sidewalk, steps leading up onto another busy street.

They blended into the crowd as best they could, eyes searching for the guy they'd lost track of back in the basement. "Where'd he _go_?" Danny asked desperately, jumping up and down to try and see over people's heads.

"I don't know!" Albany almost shouted. "Are you sure it was even the same guy, Danny?"

"_Yes_! I know my faces!"

"You don't even know how to balance a checkbook," Albany snapped.

"Yeah, _well_," Danny frowned, "neither do you!"

The girl was silent after that, grumbling to herself occasionally as they continued down the sidewalk looking for the man they were after. It was thirty minutes and ten blocks later before they ended up back at the truck, both climbing in with dejected looks.

"God it smells awful," Danny grumbled as they shut the doors.

"We left what I'm not even sure can technically be called food in here for nearly an hour, rotting in the sun. Of course it smells awful." She took their trash and opened the cab's rear window, tossing it into the bed before slamming the window shut as Danny picked the map they'd been using earlier off the floor.

With a sigh, Albany started the truck's ignition. It flared, once, twice, three times and gave up.

"Great!" Albany said, smacking her hands on the steering wheel. "We came all this way for nothing, and now we're _stuck_ because the fucking battery decides to pick _now_ to die!"

"Wait," Danny said, nudging her with his elbow. "Look, at the map."

"_I've looked at the map_!"

"No," Danny said, lips in a firm line. "Here!" He pointed emphatically at the green patch near the town's name. "Sleeping Giant State Park."

"So?" Albany grumbled, pulling out her cellphone to look for the nearest tow company's number so they could get the truck to the shop and see how jacked the battery was.

"When Mom said _land_ I think that's what she meant. Not _town_; _land_."

"You've lost me here, kid," Albany said, giving Danny a bored kind of expression.

"Look," Danny said, trying to pull out his best '_I'm-mature-and-know-what-I'm-doing_' face. "I say we check out the park. I mean, we can get the truck fixed, right, and look around while that's happening. And if we don't find anything, I _swear_ we can go home. Please, Albany. Just this one last place."

For a moment Albany simply stared at him, and then she sighed, leaning back in her seat. "_Fine_. But _just_ the park. No more crazy goose chasing after that. _And_, you're going to have to pitch-in for the truck fixing. I'm not made out of money, kid."

Danny grinned; there was still hope to find Violet yet. "Deal."

* * *

Thaddeus barged into the local clothes store not bothering to give notice to the wide-eyed patrons around him. He stumbled his way over to where Hecate was sitting on a bench outside one of the dressing rooms, Wyatt mumbling something about look stupid from inside.

"I'm sure you look fine," the woman said in that matronly voice of hers. "It's just for school, Wyatt. Since when have you cared?"

"Since his _girlfriend_ came to the house," Chad said fromwhere he was leaning against the wall by the dressing room's door. "Isn't that right, lover boy?"

"Shut up, asswipe!" Wyatt called back.

Thaddeus rolled his eyes, catching his breath as he marched up to Hecate. "We need to talk. _Now_."

She did not question his urgency, instead looking to Chad who nodded that he'd keep an eye on Wyatt as the two elder adults moved to a less crowded place in the store. The only reason they'd even come into town today was because Logan had received some call this morning getting back to him on an inquiry of sending Wyatt to public school for his senior year. The kid's old school wouldn't take him back after last year's stunt, and Thaddeus had a feeling that with Violet around, Logan didn't wanted Wyatt there too every weekday making moony eyes at her.

Hecate and Thaddeus were supposed to be the only ones to go with Wyatt, but then Chad had begged to go along to buy some new CD that had come out this week. Thaddeus hadn't thought it was a good idea in case Violet tried to pull something, but Logan had said he was more than capable of handling the girl's antics on his own, and you didn't argue with Logan's opinion of himself unless you wanted something set on fire. Thaddeus' eyebrows still hadn't grown back in correctly after the last time.

"What is it?" Hecate asked softly, reaching out a hand to brace it on Thaddeus' arm as he glanced around the store to make sure no one was paying them any mind.

"Danny," Thaddeus said. "I don't know how, but the kid's _here_. In Hamden. He brought Violet's friend with him, the Nymph."

"What?" Hecate asked, eyes going wide.

Thaddeus nodded. "I don't think the mom's as crazy as we thought. But Danny and that chick, they saw me. I got away from them, but Danny knew it was me alright."

"How?" Hecate questioned, strands of silvery black hair escaping from the bun she had it pulled back in. "You never interacted with Violet when she was around him, did you?"

"Well, uh, no…" Thaddeus mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But there was this one instance…"

He explained what had happened out behind the video game shop that day he'd broken Danny and his little group of stoner friends up before they could get the shithead kid high. When Hecate gave him a chastising look, Thaddeus couldn't help but argue that Violet wouldn't have wanted her brother involved in that kind of thing.

"He's a primordial deity, Thaddeus. It hardly would have affected him," Hecate sighed.

"Yeah well neither _he_ nor _Violet_ know that. Or anyone but us."

"You know why that is," Hecate said, her tone becoming near venomous. "If Logan knew who Danny truly was, he would kill the boy in an instant. And Danny is, at least in this life, innocent. He does not know of his past crimes, and shouldn't be judged for them. He is just a boy."

"But shouldn't we _use_ him, then?" Thaddeus asked. "What if someone else gets ahold of him now, since they know the spell?"

"Obviously there's an exception with primordial Gods," Hecate said, tapping her fingers to her chin. "Otherwise I would not have found Violet when she was with him."

"But we can't keep him hidden forever," Thaddeus argued. "When Logan finally tells his pigheaded siblings about Violet, they're going to trace her back to Danny and figure it out eventually. The kid's _dripping_ with power, Hecate. You can see it when he gets overly emotional."

"Yes, but that time is not for a while," Hecate said. "Until then, our first priority is having _Violet_ remember who she is. Once this happens we shall be able to calm Logan down at the idea of bringing Danny to our side. Plus Violet can stand up for him, and help him control his powers. Even if he betrayed us all before, that doesn't mean he will this time. His and Violet's bond is very close; closer than even that of Artemis and Apollo when the two were together. Surely he will not harm her."

"I hope you're right about that, Hecate," Thaddeus sighed, looking back over to the dressing room where Chad was making faces at himself in the mirror, Wyatt still locked inside the room behind it. "But for now, we gotta go before the kid comes snooping around here. The boss wanted us back by two anyways, and it's already quarter past one."

"You're right," Hecate nodded, headed back toward the dressing room to get the two idiots ready to go. "Not a word of this to Logan though, Thaddeus. Or so help me I was cast your mouth shut with a flick of my hand."

Thaddeus nodded grimly as he followed after her; he didn't doubt she truly would.


	22. The Kiss

**a/n**: i know, i know. three updates in a day but when the writer's mallet hits... please give any criticisms or feed backs. I was running on caffeine and insomnia when I wrote this, so any tips/critiques would be fucking awesome. thanks guys.

* * *

"I still don't like you very much, y'know?" Violet said, her legs draped over the side of the leather backed chair she was laying in across from Logan's desk, Marea snoozing beneath her feet.

"I don't have a particular fondness for you either," Logan said as he stood behind his desk, one hand focusing his glasses in front of his eyes, the other holding a business contract toward his view.

"This coming from the man who wanted to fuck me over the edge of a piano less than a week ago," Violet mumbled to herself, twiddling with a torn piece of hem on her too-big sweater.

And while she really hadn't intended for him to hear her, Logan had. Now he was looking at her, eyebrow raised. "Fucking is fucking, Violet. It's a physical act and nothing more. Just because you fuck someone doesn't mean you have to _like_ them."

"But then what's the point?" she asked, tipping one of her feet up to stare at her fluffy socks.

"It feels good," Logan said blankly, back to looking at the paper in hand. "You're not naïve, Violet; you know why people have sex."

"But what's the point if you don't like each other?" Violet asked, knowing she was grating on his nerves by the agitated look he gave her.

Over the past few days, this had become their cycle. Violet would wake up in the morning to take Marea out, and Logan would eat breakfast with her to make sure she finished everything. Then she'd wonder around the house until Wyatt woke up, and hang out with him until time for tutor. Violet would take Marea outside with Chad, and eat lunch with Wyatt. Then she'd be stuck in Logan's office with him until dinner; she didn't know why. They scarcely talked unless he was telling her not to touch something or she was saying how much she disliked his company.

And then they'd go to dinner together where he made sure, once again, she ate. And Violet would go watch a movie with Wyatt, or play Scrabble with him, or have him help her teach Marea a new trick. And then she'd go to her room, puke her guts out just to spite everyone and _control_ one goddamned thing in this house– it was petulant and stupid and she didn't care– take a shower, sleep, and repeat the cycle.

It'd only been three days, but already she was tired of it. And things had only gotten worse this morning when Logan had announced Wyatt was going back to school in September. This time it was public, not the private institution he'd been expelled from. Wyatt had complained to no end, but Logan had said it looked bad enough on the boy's college applications he'd been expelled; he needed to finish out in a _real_ school environment. Plus Wyatt had completed all of his finals the day before, so there was really nothing stopping him.

That meant there was less than three weeks before Wyatt would be gone eight hours of the day, five days a week. Leaving Violet by herself during that time, if she wasn't out of her by them.

So Evangeline had taken Wyatt clothes shopping for the day, for the new year. Thaddeus tagged along as he usually did with any excuse to leave the house, and so had Chad.

That left just Logan, Myrtle, Violet, and whatever housekeepers were around today.

Logan had shoved Violet in his office with him from the time everyone else had left– nine this morning– until the time they were supposed to get back– around three. Currently, it was just after lunch and she still smell the citrus on her fingers from the orange she'd eaten, along with the turkey sandwich and bag of chips Logan had forced into her. And milk. She detested 2%, but that was all they kept in the house so she'd just chugged it to save herself the trouble with fighting him over it.

"They call them hate fucks for a reason, Violet," Logan said, sounding more than tired of this conversation. "Now if you'll please _be quiet_, I need to figure out the demographics on this shipment. Thank you."

And Violet was quiet, for about ten minutes before she said, "But, like, what if someone gets pregnant? You don't want to have a baby with someone you hate."

Logan groaned, setting the papers down on his desk and taking of his glasses, rubbing at the corners of his eyes, or maybe the edges of his nose. Violet couldn't really tell. They were both frequent habits of his. "For Gods' sake, Violet, would you act your age?"

"I am acting my age," Violet said, sitting up in the chair a bit. "I'm only twenty, Logan. I'm quizzically curious, and since you're _so_ much worldlier than I, I just _have_ to ask you questions."

"You're acting like a brat."

"Maybe I am a brat," she said, lying back down. "It's not like you really know me."

"I know you well enough to realize you're being spiteful."

"Gee," Violet snorted. "I wonder why."

"You aren't like this to anyone else in the house," Logan pointed out, leaning forward a bit on the desk to catch Violet's attention. "What's so special about me?"

"They're brainwashed _by_ you," Violet said, kicking her feet again. "I'm still convinced you're running a cult. Especially after what I saw in the basement last week…" She stiffed at the realization of what she'd just said, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth.

"How'd you get into the basement?" Logan asked after an uncomfortable pause of silence. Violet didn't answer him though, kept her eyes on the ceiling. "Violet. _Look_. At. Me."

Hesitantly, she did, rising to sit in the chair and bring her knees to her chest, swallowing dryly. Marea had become aware of the movement, whining softly as she shifted restlessly next to Violet.

"I asked how you got into the basement," Logan said. "I expect an answer."

"You're not my boss," Violet said, but there was little power behind it.

"Damn it, Violet! I'm tired of this bullshit!" Logan said, slamming his hand down on the desktop, causing Violet to cringe. Marea barked a warning sort of snarl, and everything in the room froze. It was silent again after that, except the sound of Marea's low growling. Violet kept her eyes closed and her knees pulled up, trying not the shake and let Logan know how frightened she suddenly was. Then the sound of the floorboards creaking, Marea growling louder before abruptly absolving into silence. Violet felt a warm, callused hand on her shoulder and she flinched, biting down on her tongue.

She'd never been good around violence. There had been a few times that her mother and father had gotten into screaming matches, throwing dishes and breaking things and she'd hidden upstairs– later on with Danny– in her room and cried. Neither her father nor her mother had ever hit her when her father had been alive. But then, after he died, as her mother crumbled away into the depression, she'd started drinking a lot. When Violet had tried to yell at her and tell her she needed to be a better parent for Danny, her mother had smacked her. It had happened a couple of times, before Violet finally gave up and decided she had to take care of Danny herself.

She hadn't been much afraid of her mother though; not the way she was with Logan. Here was a man who had taken her from her home as if it was nothing. Stolen her life from her. He was tall, and strong and intimidating. Just because she didn't much care for looks didn't mean Violet hadn't noticed just how _masculine_ he really was. And how harsh his hands looked in the light, and how sharp his eyes were when he was upset. His voice was deep, and he held himself as if he was of importance. The kind of dominant male figure Violet had spent her entire life avoiding.

And now he'd yelled at her and acted out, and he was _touching_ her, bare skin to skin where her stupid too-big sweater slipped off of her shoulder. She could taste blood in her mouth.

"Violet," Logan said softly. "Violet, I'm sorry."

She opened her eyes then, peeking up from her knees to find the sincerity in his gaze. "It's okay," she whispered, voice hoarse. Oh God, she wasn't going to cry, was she? She was already embarrassed enough.

"It isn't okay," Logan sighed. "I wouldn't ever put my hands on you," he said. "I want you to know that."

Violet blinked, this sudden haze of _I will never hurt you; any soul who tries, I'll send them to Tartarus myself_. She caught her breath, shying back from his touch. His eyes were searching, entirely too dark. (_Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness_.)

Without realizing it, Violet had reached out one of her own hands to settle it atop his cheek, keeping his gaze as she leaned in. _What am I doing?_ she thought in the brief seconds before their lips met, and then thought was lost.

It was chaste, as far as kisses go. A soft press of mouths, his lips firm, her lips soft. He smelled of smoke and cedar and something she could not place, and when she pulled away, startled at what she'd just done, he kept his eyes closed, letting out a breath through his nostrils.

"I'm sorry," Violet quickly said, pulling her hand back to store it between her knees and chest. "I'm sorry." What, did she have Stockholm's Syndrome now? Great, because she wasn't already mentally screwed up enough.

Finally, Logan opened his eyes, simply staring at her for a moment, this look on his face like _what are you?_ and Violet didn't have the answer to that. She had no idea who she was; never had and felt as if she never would.

And then Logan laughed, he sat back on the floor and laughed, holding his middle like it hurt. Violet's cheeks flamed. Was he laughing at _her_? _Serves you right for kissing him, moron,_ she thought to herself angrily. Had they not, just minutes before, expressed their mutual dislike of one another? And then she _kissed_ him. God, what was wrong with her?

While Logan was busy getting over his humored fit, Violet quickly got up from the chair she sat in and headed toward the door, Marea on her heels. "Wait!" Logan called as she stepped foot into the hall. "Violet, _wait_."

But she was already walking briskly toward the stairs that led to the third floor and her room. She just wanted to get away and…forget. Or maybe jump out the window. She'd settle for either at this point.

Marea gave a warning growl, but already Logan had caught hold of Violet's wrist, pulling her off the first step and in turn pressing her back into the wall. She gasped as his arms moved to either side of her, wanting to look to Marea for help but the dog had already vanished up the stairwell. _Traitor_, Violet thought. She didn't have time to dwell on it though, because Logan was grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him and his eyes were _so_ dark and there was a sudden heat pooling in her stomach and–

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, little girl," he said, all humor gone from his expression and replaced with something else entirely; something Violet had never seen anyone look at her with before.

But at his comment, her temper flared. "I am _not_ little."

He stared at her a moment longer, something unreadable before he said, "No. No, you're not."

There was nothing chaste about the kiss he gave her now. It was a harsh crush of mouth against mouth, Violet whimpering from the pain of it, enough for Logan to part her lips with his and stick his tongue in her mouth. He tasted bitter and she hated herself for liking it, she hated herself for kissing him back for the moment that she did.

This _couldn't_ happen.

She pushed him away, his mouth skidding against her cheek in sloppy trail, eyes startled.

"I hate you," she hissed with such venom it could burn her own tongue. She had to stop this, right now. This wasn't going to happen. It wasn't.

"I don't return your feelings," said Logan, keeping his arms around her, eyes level. "While I do not much care for you, I can't bring myself to hate you."

"Why do you keep me here then?" she asked, teeth bore. "If you _do not much care for me_, then what's the point, Logan? Why am I here?"

He sighed. "I need you."

"Why?" Violet asked, words softened to a whisper. "_Why_?"

"Because…" Logan didn't finish the words, instead he leaned forward and captured her lips again feverishly, nearly all teeth and almost blood.

Violet gasped against his mouth, reaching out to shove him away again but his hands had moved from bracing the wall, instead coming to grab at the sides of her face, fingers tangled in her hair and thumb resting on the pulse point of her neck. He deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head and her mouth opened under his insistency. Where she'd gone to push him away, she let her fingers tangle in the linen of his shirt, not knowing whether to leave or keep.

He gave her no room to breathe, not any kind of air. All of her senses had been drowned in him– where there was no sight nor sound there was abundance of taste, smell, _touch_. And there was spark, something tingling in her skin and she couldn't, she didn't–

_Gods_.

All of the breath left her lungs at the onslaught of image. Picking flowers in a beautiful field, the earth opening up to swallow her whole. Months of anger and pain and sadness, and then a new foreign feeling growing the in the pit of her chest. Secret laughter and stolen kisses before the night she willingly came to his bed, lying of loneliness when instead she sought his touch. A message that she could come home, his eyes filled with water, the only time she'd ever seen him cry. _Stay with me, I beg of you._ And she did; she bit the forbidden fruit. Half alive, half dead. The sun, the dark. She did not know where the months ended and began, all she knew was the soft words of her mother, and the fiery touch of a lover she agreed to take as a husband. Always cautious, always silent of her feelings, but she had loved him. Gods, she had loved him and _resented_ him more than life itself. And she bore him a child, and she ruled as his queen and they were _happy_, even if she scarcely admitted it under a held grudge because he had stolen her away. And then everything was different, no one believed anymore. And he held her and told her it would be alright, _trust me, love_, and she had. And _they_ had come and she had to save her mother, her doting frantic mother and the Dark had promised she would be safe and there was the sting of something sharp and blood and blood and blood _keep the children out, my mother please, please I couldn't save her why couldn't I save her please don't let go I've never said it before but you've had to have known, you __**had**_ _to– I love you Hades. I love you; I always will._ And it was dark, it was cold it was _nothing_ and then suddenly breath of new life and everything she'd known was no more. There was mortality, there was childhood ignorance, there was loss there was hurt there was responsibility there was betrayal and there was _this_, his lips upon hers the way it had been for an eternity.

When she came back to herself, Violet realized she had tangled her hands into Logan's hair, body pressed to every line of his intimately. His arms were around her, clutching as their mouths moved frantically against one another. She was rubbing her hips against his, making small, helpless sounds as he groaned into their embrace. There was something hard against the inside of her thigh, and she felt heated ache in her belly while Logan had her bent backwards, shoulders pressed to the wall as he held her fast, grinding into her.

It felt like everything she needed; it was _wrong_.

Getting her wits about her, Violet shoved him off, turning to her side and gasping for breath, feeling as if the world had crashed. "What– what did you _do_ to me?" she asked quietly, clutching at her chest where her heart beat so frantically she thought it would stop at any moment.

"I didn't do anything," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "You simply…_remembered_."

"Remembered _what_?!" she screamed, panic setting in. "That was not me– that couldn't be me!"

"It isn't you," Logan agreed. "But it is. Or rather, it _was_. A long time ago."

"No," Violet said, taking a step back from him. "No."

"Violet," Logan warned, knowing what she was going to do. "This isn't something you can run from. You _know_ why you're here. You do."

"No," she said, tears steadily forming in her eyes. "I'm not her! I'm not Persephone!"

"You aren't," he said, holding up his hands with caution. "You are _Violet_. I am _Logan_. But we were Gods once, don't you see?"

"You're insane," Violet said, shaking her head. "This whole house is insane." Oh _Gods_, what she had seen Evangeline doing in the basement had been, had been _witchcraft_. "Hecate, and, and Hades and Perseph–" she stifled a sob, "they are not real. They're _myths_." She was at the top of the stairs now, ready to tumble down with one false step.

"You know that isn't true," Logan said, reaching a hand out toward her. "Come on, love. Come with me and let me explain."

"I _do not_ love you!" she yelled.

And then she ran.

* * *

Logan felt as if someone had just shoved a knife through his chest. Her words really shouldn't have hurt him, but they did.

He'd been in Violet's presence less than five days and he'd already determined he didn't have much fondness toward her. While he found her interesting and strangely alluring, she was annoying as hell. She had such a dry wit he didn't know whether he wanted laugh at her sarcasm or bash his head against the nearest blunt surface. And she was so…flippant. One moment angry, the next quiet as a mouse. She was selfish and selfless and entirely not what he'd been expecting. He didn't understand her. And he didn't want to admit that he _wanted_ to understand her.

But now that idea had been ruined. She'd kissed him and he'd felt…_something_. Not just because of Hades; Logan, he, _himself_ had felt something, and he knew Violet had too. This life was different, but he wanted her. He wanted her and he didn't know why.

But then they were kissing again, and this time it was purely Hades and Persephone, lost lovers trying to fuck each other right there against the wall as she remembered _everything_. Hecate had said it would come back gradually, but she'd been wrong.

Because now Violet knew and she was so much faster than him, already out through the kitchen doors that they kept unlocked so it was easier to let the damned dog outside. Where even was that damned dog now when he needed her?

Logan knew it was a lost cause the moment Violet found her way into the garden area on the west side of the house. Before he could even step onto the path, it was covered with vines, thorn bushes blocking his path.

"Violet!" Logan called, genuinely frightened now. If she got over that, wall, into the forest… "Violet! Please, come _back_!"

There was no answer however, just the rustle of leaves, the howl of wind, the hot summer heat.

Logan stood there a good five minutes before finally shaking his head, bypassing the garden all together to climb over the wall. It was not without difficulties– like pulling yourself out of hell– but one moment he was on the crisp grass of his law, and the next he was crouched in mud.

Violet had been over the wall, that much was obvious. The greenery around him flared with life, laughter on the wind as the creatures in the forest began to stir. If he could catch her before nightfall, everything would be fine. Gods, if he could catch her before she made it to the road, everything would be grand.

He set off running, just as the howl of hounds pierced the air, making his blood run cold.

* * *

She didn't know what she was doing, she didn't know why she was running, all she knew was the beat of her heart and the voice in her head saying _get away get away run girl run and don't look back!_

Flashes of dark horses and chariots, their nostrils spitting fire and hoofs burning the grass beneath their feet. The earth opening to swallow her whole, suck her into darkness. She couldn't, she wouldn't… The Darkness had betrayed her– she clutched at her stomach expecting blood, but there was none.

Who was she, what was she?

What was this world?

Thickets of branches cut at her skin, drawing little lines here and there that bled as sweet as pomegranates. Pomegranates, they had been her end. Or had they been the beginning?

Voices laughed on the wind, the sounds of shades moaning, hounds howling for fresh blood. She knew those sounds; the sounds of Tartarus where worst fears came to life.

If anything she ran faster, the burn in her lungs unusual, foreign in a way. A Goddess did not tire; her legs did not become strained with pain…

_I am not a Goddess_.

Violet pulled up short in her tracks, breath rushing out of her in torrent tears, hands bracing knees and sweat dripping down her back. Her socks were gone, replaced by mud and grass wherever she stepped. The greenest grass she had ever seen, followed by paths of flowers, small and white, round and blue, petalled and yellow… She sank down to the ground, reaching out her hand and just _pulling_.

The violets took life before her very eyes, twisting and turning and aging to become beautiful.

A small sob ripped from her chest, followed by another and another. Where her tears landed there grew sprigs of forget-me-not and weeping irises that mourned her. "Stop it," she cried. "Stop it. Stop it. I don't want this! Stop!"

She reached forward and ripped the flowers from the earth, but more grew in their place. With a frantic cry, she jumped away from them, tucking her knees up into her chest. "Momma," she mumbled. "Momma I'm sorry, I want to come home."

And then there was a loud snarl, a hot breath against her cheek. Violet turned in time to come face to face with blood-red eyes, a mutilated corpse of something that must have been a hound, once. "She's gonna get it now," came a giggle from the trees.

"Oh, I can't wait to watch," answered another.

Violet scrambled away from the hound, rising to her feet as it growled, stalking closer. Suddenly there were two more from the tree line, and then another at her back. "Demeter's daughter's gonna get it," singsonged the gigglers from the trees.

"It's a dream," Violet told herself. "It's a dream."

But one of the house lunged and she screamed, narrowly avoiding it by jumping to the side, rolling away as another came for her. There was a broken branch to her left and she grabbed it, pulling it across her throat for the hound to bite into instead her skin. Spittle came from its dead mouth, white and foaming and Violet struggled against it.

"Get. Off!" she screamed, kicking out her legs in newfound strength, bashing it in the stomach so the hound went flailing. It whimpered as it felt to the ground, and didn't get back up, just lying there crying. Violet felt a twinge of regret, but only just as the other three came to circle her.

"Uh-oh," said the gigglers. "Better run Spring Goddess!"

Violet paid them no attention, instead swinging out as one of the hounds came at her, smacking it square in the face with the branch. It recoiled, but only to recollect itself as another came for her, sinking its claws into the skin of her arm. She cursed, but after years of cutting into her own flesh, the sting was not disabling– there were more important things. Like kicking the hound in the face and trying not to retch when its blood got in her mouth.

Suddenly an ear-splitting scream ripped from her throat as two sets of hands grabbed her arms; one set's clawed nails digging into the new wounds the hounds had inflicted. "It's no fun if you win," said the gigglers, her apparent captors.

They were beautiful in a dead porcelain doll kind of way, horns growing from their heads and their eyes milky white. Their skin was blistered and bruised with blood, peeling away from muscle and bone. Maggots slithered in an out, and both figures were naked from head to toe; only Violet couldn't tell if they were male or female. Frankly, she didn't care.

"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against their grip as a hound stalked its way toward her. In her fear she somehow caused vines to grow, ripping from the ground and ensnaring the hound in their grip. It began whining, confused as to what was happening as the vines twisted around its body, covering the creature until there was nothing but a green mass and the hound was silent.

"Boo hoo!" stomped one of the gigglers as they continued to hold her down. "You're such a party pooper, Persephone!"

"My name is not Persephone!" Violet snarled. "It's _Violet_!"

"And, I believe, she told you to let her go."

Violet never in her life thought she would be thankful for the sight of Logan Fairgrave looking completely terrifying and ready for a fight, but today she was.


	23. The Importance of Humanity

**a/n**: i just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for your comments and suggestions. also, i wanted to put a warning in for any of you wondering that this story is probably going to be a bit long chapter wise. i hope you stick around, because i'm also planning a possible sequel... And quick warning, there is nudity toward the end of the chapter, though brief.

This chapter is for Anna, who I couldn't help but talk beauty and the beast references with which inspired me for such plot points. thank you Anna, my love ;) She's also come up with the official name for those living in the Fairgrave house: _Team Underworld_. We want to make shirts.

* * *

The first blow Logan took was a harsh one, a hound sinking its teeth into his shoulder. Violet cried out his name as black spots dotted his vision from the pain, but one _shove_ of his hand and the hound had a sizzling wound the size of Logan's palm in its side. The hound squealed, backing away with its companion, the only two left of the pack.

"Let. Me. _Go_!" Violet screamed at the creatures holding her, shocking Logan when sudden roots sprouted from the ground, catching one of the vile little monsters in the shoulder. It gave a startled cry, letting go of where it held Violet's injured arm so the girl could turn on the other creature holding her, striking out and punching it in the face.

It didn't do much, but Logan had to give Violet his respect for trying. But that would be later. Right now he was bleeding, and there were two hounds circling at his feet, putting his nerves on edge as adrenaline shot through his veins.

To be fair, Logan hadn't been in a fight with cacodemons or laelaps in a long time. Really, it was better to be in a bar brawl piss drunk with ten against one than go up against these creatures, but right now they were threatening Violet and something inside of him flared with a possessive instinct to protect her at all costs, even his own life.

_Jesus Christ_, he thought listlessly, because one little kiss and already he was taking on creatures of Tartarus for this girl. _Who are you kidding; you would've done it without the kiss anyway._

A hound lunged again, the one he hadn't injured. And while Logan was still the slightest bit drained from the spell he'd been forced to cast last week, he had enough strength to hit the dog on the side of its head, smash in its skull with one blow. The other hound looked at its companion then, limping on the side Logan had taken its flesh from before backing off, running into the woods without a backward glance. While laelaps were always destined to catch their prey, they did not hunt unless in packs.

Now there were cacodemons to contend with, pissed off because their mischief had been spoiled and Violet had drawn blood. The one she'd punched was on her now, the two rolling on the ground, the cacodemon taking swipes, and Violet getting the brunt of it before throwing another punch at the creature.

Logan focused his sights on the injured one who had gathered its bearings and was headed towards Violet and its counterpart. Running the small distance between himself and the creature, Logan tackled it to the ground, getting his hands around its throat as it scraped claws down his chest, ripping into his shirt and drawing fresh blood. He cursed, gripping harder at the thing's neck.

It was dead already and couldn't be stopped unless he cut its brain off from the rest of its body; taking a deep breath he forced himself to focus, drawing on a feeling Hecate had told him long ago never to ignore. Heat radiated from his palms, and the cacodemon beneath him began screeching, crying out for its partner as the skin at its throat started to sizzle, giving way to muscle chord and then bone. Logan bared his teeth at the creature, grunting as he snapped its head to the side, its spinal-chord giving a sickening _crack_ as it broke.

Behind him, Logan could hear more screeching, and for a moment the bloodlust left his mind and worry for Violet set in, but when he turned he found it was the cacodemon that was screaming, not Violet. No, the girl was simply standing there, staring at the creature with wide eyes from where it had been impaled against a tree with roots, the tendrils of which were snaking around its neck, tightening more and more as the creature begged for its life.

"Finish it, Violet," Logan said numbly as he stood. "It'll come sniffing around the house now, if you don't." He winced as he tried to step, feeling suddenly drained and full of pain.

"I can't," Violet said softly, the roots seeming to have stopped their movement, the creature snarling from where it was pinned against the tree.

"It's already dead," Logan said.

Violet shook her head. "I _can't_."

Sighing, Logan looked at her with rapt attention then. She was cut and bleeding, bruises already beginning to form on her paled skin. It set a certain kind of anger off inside of him– that anyone could ever even _think_ of hurting her let alone _touch_ her. Without hesitation, he walked over to where the cacodemon was pinned against the tree, twisting its head at an unnatural angle until the creature went silent, body limp through the slits of the tree roots.

When he turned back to Violet, Logan could see the fear still evident in her eyes. He held up his hands– not without protest from his injuries– in a calming motion. "I won't hurt you, Violet."

"What were those things?" she asked instead of taking him at word. "I remember…_her_. Persephone. But not them."

"You probably wouldn't," Logan said. "You never spent much time in Tartarus. Wasn't a fun place to be."

Violet nodded, swallowing down her nerves before giving him a good onceover. "You're hurt."

"So are you."

"Not as bad," she sighed, walking over to him and taking his arm– the one not injured– and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Do you know how to get back to the house?"

"Yeah," his voice was gruff as he adjusted to the heat Violet's body radiated into his own, the unspoken power there. He could smell the blood on her skin, as well as sweat and dirt and something he recognized as Violet's own, unique scent. It was one he'd come to like more than he wanted to admit over the past few days when he'd spent time with her.

Slowly, Violet began walking them back toward the house, Logan giving her directions of where to turn. They weren't that far from the wall, really. But the forest was dense and there were many possible wrong turns that they could take. Not to mention he was on edge at the thought the laelap would go and gather more of its pack, or they'd run into another type of demon on their way back.

"Why are these things out here?" Violet asked.

"It's relatively easy for demons to claw their way from Tartarus without me around protecting its boundaries," Logan said. "They're attracted to places that radiate magic, especially my kind– the Underworld kind."

"And by _my_ you mean as in Hades'," Violet murmured.

"He's a part of me, yes," Logan grunted. "Just as Persephone is a part of you."

"Don't," Violet begged, her tone suddenly turning urgent. "I just…can we not talk about it right now?"

"As you wish," Logan said

"Stop it." Violet rolled her eyes. "This isn't the Princess Bride, even if you were bitten on the shoulder by some ugly monster. You aren't going to die from it, right?"

"It's not going to get infected, if that's what you're asking. Not if you patch it up right."

"_Me_?" Violet asked incredulously.

"I can't take you to the hospital, Violet. You know why."

"But I don't know how to patch you up!"

"I'll show you."

"Do you have a medical degree?!"

Logan shook his head. "Not in this life, anyways."

"This life?" Violet asked, looking at him from the corner of her eyes, a spark of curiosity settling there.

"I'll explain when we get back to the house."

It took them another five minutes of walking before they made it to the wall that surrounded the Fairgrave property. Logan stared at the obstacle with annoyance, knowing his shoulder was not going to make this easy. Before he could start trying to help Violet up first though, the girl had left him balanced against the wall and bent to the ground, flexing her hands and pressing them to the earth and murmuring a little "_please_" under her breath. Abruptly, the ground shook, the steady form of a sapling beginning to raise from the ground, first simply a stem and then winding into a tree.

Violet smiled over at him tiredly, holding out a hand until he took it with an awed sort of look and let her wrap his good arm around her waist, holding onto the base of the tree as it rose toward the top of the wall. To say he was impressed was an understatement. The kind of power Violet emitted was greater than even his, especially considering the fact she was injured and this was her first life cycle, as far as he knew.

Shaking his head, Logan climbed onto the edge of the wall, dropping down onto his lawn with a grunt. He held out a hand to Violet, which she grabbed onto as she jumped down, stumbling into his chest. The tree quickly retracted behind them, more than likely dying back into the ground. Violet did look very worn, which meant the things she'd conjured probably wouldn't last long. It was probably a good thing he'd killed the cacodemon the way he had, then.

Together, they stumbled back toward the house, a frantic Marea racing toward them across the lawn. "Of course _now_ you're here. Some guard dog," Logan scoffed.

Marea simply stuck her nose at Violet, snorting and sniffing and sneezing in satisfaction her charge wasn't in any serious harm.

"Is she even a real dog?" Violet asked as she tugged Logan into the kitchen, sitting him down in one of the chairs at the table.

"Technically she's one of Artemis' maidens," Logan shrugged, wincing at the tearing flesh feeling it caused. "Though that's just because Artemis raised her and gave her certain…_gifts_. She is just a dog though, yes."

Violet looked at Marea with a newfound expression before shaking her head, asking Logan where the nearest first-aid kit was. He told her it was down the hall in a bathroom on her right. Violet nodded, leaving the room with Marea on her heels.

Logan simply stared after her, the girl dripping blood onto the carpet but looking as if it didn't faze her at all. She was still completely herself, like the realization she'd been a Goddess once hadn't changed her at all, besides the initial scare of it.

When Logan had finally remembered everything of his own past, it had made his confidence spike, his valor stronger. He'd been thirteen at the time, and his overly negligent parents had chalked it up to puberty, whereas he and Hecate had known better.

Everything had gotten worse when he'd finally met up again with John at the age of eighteen. That's when his brother introduced him to the life of a _God_, as John had boasted. Money, prestige, _power_. Logan had been drunk on it when he was younger, more than pleased to know he'd had a lucrative business and grand sort of house waiting for him, installed over the latest centuries and still thriving. There had been a lot of alcohol then, women, drugs, arrogance.

He'd been twenty-five when he finally figured enough was enough. He wasn't some ignorant playboy mortal, and he was acting worse than his brothers. That's when the resentment had set in for his siblings all over again. He wouldn't be like them; he wouldn't.

So he'd stopped with all of it, investing himself in the conduct of business instead, and trying to do something _normal_ and grounding instead of putting himself above those around him. And not more than a year and half later he'd been told of Wyatt, and how Logan was the best suited choice to keep the boy safe.

Suddenly he had more responsibility on his hands, and if Logan had not have grown into a man before then, he had now. He was basically the boy's father, and though Wyatt was already half-grown, it was Logan's job to take care of him. He'd had help from Hecate, of course. And then Thaddeus had come knocking, and soon an overly hysterical Chad who had said he was too young to row the dead across the Styx.

But Logan had taken care of them; he had done what he had had to do. Really, he didn't have to step up to the plate if he didn't want to; but he knew it was his responsibility, and if there was one thing he knew of being a real man, it was that you kept to your responsibility, and you took care of those who depended on you. God or not, he wasn't going to put himself above taking care of these people.

Logan's little family– if it could hardly be called that– had caused him to realize there was a lot more to life than money and power. And now, in less than a week, Violet had taught him that it was _humanity_. It was every flaw that the Gods so claimed not to have; the selfishness and selflessness this girl showed, the anger and the want and the need and the love so plainly written on her face for those she cared of.

How he could ever have thought the only thing she could give him was a leg-up against the Titans was beyond him at this point; she'd given him so much more.

It was a bit funny, how someone who had once been a Goddess could be so very _human_ in this life. But then, Logan realized, even when Violet _had_ been a Goddess, she'd still been the most human of them all, and that is why Hades had fallen in love with Persephone. Because she never thought herself higher than the mortals; she knew the Gods had faults all the same as the beings they had created.

Blinking, Logan stared down at one of his hands pressed to the table. It was bloody and had the outline of Violet's fingers marred into the red from when he'd helped her down from the wall. Her hands were so small in comparison to his, so fragile. And yet, she was entirely strong.

He knew he would not, could not use her anymore, not the way he had originally intended. Not without keeping her safe. He owed her that much.

"Found it," Violet said, shaking Logan from his thoughts as she strode into the kitchen, Marea on her heels and the first-aid kit in her hands. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"I'll live without it," Logan said dryly. "You're going to have to cut my shirt off though," he said, trying not to laugh at her when she blushed from the comment. "There are scissors in the drawer over there."

Violet moved to where he'd nodded and came back with the scissors hesitantly, starting at the bottom of his shirt and cutting up to his collar. She didn't dare touch his skin, instead cutting around the edges of his sleeves until they fell away and he was bare from the waist-up in front of her. It reminded him of when he'd let Molly patch him up last week, but this was entirely different.

Where with Molly Logan hadn't paid any attention to her reactions, he was now intently focused on Violet's. She was still blushing, but her eyes were steady as she opened the first-aid kit, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic and moving to grab a kitchen towel from the cabinet by the sink.

She went to work on the bite first, the most severe of his wounds. It wasn't deep, but it encircled the entirety of his shoulder, cutting down onto his bicep. Marea was sniffing at the bloody towel Violet had just placed on the table after cleaning the wound off with and snorted, shaking her head and moving to go sit over by the kitchen doors like she was disgusted.

"What's with her?" Violet murmured, pulling gauze pads from the kit and antibiotic ointment.

"She smells the laelaps," Logan said.

"The what?"

"Those dogs from in the woods. They're called laelaps."

"Oh, right," Violet nodded. "The dogs that always catch their prey, right?"

"Not this time," Logan said. "Hecate's bonded the house so they can't pass the walls or the drive. There's boundaries marked too; only so far the creatures can reach so they never get the chance to interact with humanity."

"You mean Evangeline," Violet said.

Now it was Logan's turn to ask, "What?"

"You said Hecate," Violet frowned. "She's Evangeline. To me at least. I'm not calling her anything else."

"You know, you're taking this all much better than I thought you would." He studied her a moment, the seemingly calm expression on her face as she taped up the wound on his shoulder, quickly moving to the claw marks that marred his chest.

"Yeah, well, I'm saving the mental breakdown for later," Violet said, pausing a moment to look him in the eye. "When you asked how I got in the basement, it was from those halls, the ones behind your office and the library. I kind of…I kind of saw Evangeline casting some kind of _spell_."

"She was strengthening the bonds on the house," Logan said, hissing as Violet touched a particularly deep part of the marks on his chest. "The world isn't very safe for our kind anymore, Violet."

"And by our kind you mean…?"

"Gods."

She nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "I still feel like this is all a horrible nightmare I'm going to wake up from."

"I wish that you could," Logan said earnestly. "But I'm afraid that isn't the case, Violet. Do you at least have better insight as to why you've been brought here now?"

"No," she said, pausing in her work a tense moment before resuming again. "You could've– why couldn't you have done this back in Boston? Just kissed me then?"

"I didn't know it'd be as simple as kissing you," Logan explained. "Evangeline said that your memories would come back gradually, not in such a flood like that."

"So when you said you brought me here to help people, that was all a lie?"

"No." He waited patiently as she taped off the wounds on his chest, standing slowly and pleased to find the wrappings were solid. "I need to check your arm."

"Only if you tell me why I'm _really_ here," she argued. "Not just to remember who I was, or whatever. There's more to it if you weren't lying about helping people."

"Fine," Logan sighed tiredly, waiting as Violet took his place in the chair. He moved for the scissors to cut her shirt away as she had his, but she held up her hands.

"What are you doing?"

"This stupid sweater is too ragged for me to work around it– it needs to come off."

"I'm not wearing a bra," Violet said, her cheeks enflaming all over again.

"Gods, Violet," he said, irritation flaring. "I've seen breasts before."

"Well not _mine_."

"Do you want me to tell you why you're here or not?"

For a moment, Violet just glared at him, shoulders tense before she groaned and slumped in the chair, putting her arms out to the side so Logan could cut the remnants of her sweater away. He did her the justice of not looking once her breasts were bared, instead cutting back the sleeves and throwing the sweater in a bloody heap on the floor. Violet brought her good arm up to cover her chest, not meeting Logan's eyes as he looked at her face to make sure she was alright.

Her left arm was pretty mangled, and there was a long gouge on her waist, a deep cut on her right collarbone. Little scratches covered her face and neck and ankles, but other than that there was no immediate danger her wounds imposed.

"So helping people?" she asked as Logan got a clean towel to wipe away her blood.

"There are some of who…want to let the Titans back into the world. And you and I both know if they got out, they'd kill every mortal in their path. It's our job to stop them."

Violet hissed out a breath between her teeth, but Logan guessed it was not from the pain of him cleaning her wounds. "Why do others want to bring them back then?"

"There are Gods who want to rule again; they want Olympus back, and they think by killing us this will happen."

"So what's the point of me being here? How can I help when all I can do is make dumb plants grow?"

"What you did back there was amazing," Logan told her, giving her a fierce glance so she would believe him because he meant the words. "And we're stronger in numbers. You and I were married once, Violet. Well, our past lives were, anyways. From the moment I saw you again I've felt the best I have in a very longer time. You're just coming into your powers; there's a lot of divinity in that."

"But if I was Persephone," she murmured, "then why didn't Demeter try and find me too?"

Logan was silent, focusing instead on her wounds.

"You didn't tell her you found me," Violet said quietly. "Why am I not surprised?"

He didn't feel guilt at her accusing tone; he wasn't sorry he'd brought her here, had bonded her with Hecate and in turn himself. While he now knew he would protect Violet with everything in himself, he wasn't simply going to give her up, even if it made her happier. He needed her to defeat Kronus; be it a selfish whim he didn't care. He _needed_ her. And he wanted her too…

Silently, Logan went back to taking care of her wounds. While they weren't as large as his, they were deeper. He looked to her face again, searching for signs of discomfort but there weren't many.

"Doesn't this hurt?" he asked, inspecting the torn flesh of her forearm.

"When you've been cutting yourself since you were fifteen, no," she said, meeting his gaze then. There was such an intensity in her eyes, something he couldn't fathom, so he simply looked away, back to her wounds which made his blood boil a bit at the thought he'd arrived too late to save her from sustaining them.

Both were quiet for a long while after that. It wasn't until he got to the cut on her collarbone and realized it slipped down between her breasts that the two looked at one another again. Her eyes were a bit frightened, a bit shy. He gave her the most reassuring expression he could, tugging on her arm so it went to hang limp at her side. For a moment he simply stared at her, small breasts and rosy nipples. They would be about a palmful in his hands, he knew. But the smattering of freckles over her chest, the rosiness around the peaks of her breasts…

Logan cleared his throat, shook his head softly and began cleaning the top of the wound, trying not to take notice of the way Violet's breath started to speed up, her blush creeping down to the top of her leggings. Her skin was warm and soft, plush to the touch despite the way he could see her ribs if he looked hard enough. She was not meant to be a skinny waif of a thing; he could see the hint of feminine curves at her hips, the roundness of her breasts and thighs alluding to it.

And while he would find her beautiful no matter how she looked, he wished the girl would stop being so damned stubborn and just _eat_.

As he moved down between her breasts, they both knew his hand was too large not to touch them at least a bit, the edge of his palm scraping over the soft ridges of them. Violet took in a sharp breath and stared at the ceiling while Logan focused intently on the task he had, bandaging her wound with soft touches and subtle glances at her face to make sure she was alright.

When all was finished, he left his hand at the top of the bandage, right over her heart. "You're trembling," he said, and while he'd said it in attempt to push her buttons and lighten the situation, she instead looked at him, her lips parted and her eyes frightened and full of a longing that he knew she had no idea what she wanted in that moment.

But he did, and Gods how he wanted it to.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his, softer than the last time he'd kissed her, a light touch of lips. He could hear her breath catch, her heartbeat rushing under his palm. His other hand came up to the side of her face, fingers tangling in her hair.

He didn't know why he was kissing her. Maybe because he'd realized how so very _good_ she was, maybe because he was relieved she was here _safe_ instead of dead in the woods, maybe because he wanted to say _sorry_ for how much he had lied to her, or maybe simply because he _wanted_ her. It didn't much matter, because she was kissing him back, one hand on the back of his neck, the other on the side of his face. Her little fingers were snaking into his hair, giving a light tug.

It made him groan, deepening the kiss with insistence she let him. And she did, her own tongue hesitant against his as he tried to taste every inch of her mouth, like she'd never _really_ been kissed before. _Gods_, he realized with shock, _she hasn't_. If anything that made Logan even more desperate and aching to touch her, claim her in some primal way. His hand dropped from over her heart, moving to palm her breast softly before he could stop himself.

Violet whimpered.

Growling under his breath, he wedged himself into the space between her legs where she sat on the edge of the chair, moving the hand not on her breast to the small of her back and pressing her body up against his. He was vaguely aware of the dull pain in his shoulder from the movement, but he didn't care. She was still pulling at his hair, the other hand now on his chest, fingers scrabbling over his heart. She tasted of vanilla and blood and oranges and he suddenly couldn't get enough of her, bowing her back against the chair and kissing her possessively, devouring every soft sound she made against his mouth and doing everything he could to get her to make more of them.

Suddenly Marea started barking, causing Logan and Violet to break apart, eyes wide at one another. Marea had her nose pointed toward the entrance to the kitchen as she whined, and both Violet and Logan turned to see Thaddeus leaning against the arch there, smirking like the devil himself.

"Sorry to break up the love fest, kiddies. But Wyatt, Chad and Ang are headed this way, and as you're both topless and covered in blood, I figured I'd give you the hint to come up with an explanation quickly."

Violet looked at Logan frantically, pulling his hands off of her– one still on her breast, her face turning almost scarlet at the realization– and quickly covering herself with her arms. "Thaddeus," Logan said, trying to meet Violet's eyes but she wouldn't look at him. "Give me your jacket."

Huffing, Thaddeus did as commanded. "You owe me a hundred bucks if it gets bloody," he said, tossing the jacket to Logan with a scowl.

Quickly, Logan draped it over Violet's shoulders, once again trying to read her expression, but she was staring at the floor, as if she _couldn't_ look at him. With a sudden ache, he realized she was not only ashamed of being caught, but also of what they'd just done.

A harsh weight pressed against his senses and he wanted to be angry at her, wanted to insist she'd kissed him back as much as he'd kissed her and had felt the same things he had, but he couldn't find it in himself to be mad at her. Right now she looked small and embarrassed and broken, and he just wanted to get her up to her room and washed up and in bed, safe and warm.

But that wasn't to be, because every abruptly, there were three more bodies in the kitchen doorway, a calamity and Hecate calling in worry, "Gods, what _happened_ _here_?"

Logan sighed, standing up and leaving Violet hunched over in the kitchen chair, wiping stray blood from the side of his face where her hands had left prints. "It's a long explanation."


	24. The Promise

**A/N**: Don't ask me what's with all the sudden chapter updates. Blame the nocturnal shift. I just wanted everyone to know that during the last few hours, I was able to work out a definitive plot for the rest of Bone and Skin. And yes, there will for sure be a sequel. Just wanted to get that out there. ;)

* * *

"Ow! Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Watch your langue," Danny snapped, an old habit he'd gotten from Violet. _Oh God, I'm turning into my sister._ "Maybe if you would've worn more sensible shoes…"

"These _are_ sensible," Albany said, looking at her Roman sandals with a frown. "I was able to run two blocks in them, wasn't I? And stand for an _hour_ at that stupid bus stop."

"Connecticut sucks," Danny said, a sort of agreement with her. "You're lucky your tits got us that discount at the mechanic shop."

Albany lifted her hands to aforementioned assets, pushing them up and together and shrugging as she let them drop and settle back into place. Danny tried not to stare for too long. "What can I say, kid, I was blessed," Albany smirked.

"I'll say. You saved us a hundred bucks just for flashing your cleavage at the pervert." Turns out the battery _was_ dead in the truck, and it couldn't simply be jumpstarted but needed an entirely new one. The mechanic that had towed them back to his shop had wanted to charge three-hundred for parts and repair, but one charming plea from Albany and the cost had gone down to two-hundred, with a guarantee that he'd have it ready and waiting for them in three hours tops.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, my mind is a lot more useful when it comes down to it, but these puppies can work some serious wonders," Albany said, pulling her shirt out to look down it confidently.

"Would you _stop it_," Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest and increasing his pace.

"Aw, is little Dannykins a bit sexually frustrated?"

"You're gross," Danny said, but Albany simply laughed at him and kept stride.

They'd taken a bus from the Hamden town square out to Sleeping Giant State Park, but the streets here felt endless, and so far anytime they'd stopped to ask someone if they'd seen Violet, holding up a faded picture of her, everyone had said _no_. Danny was beginning to get more than agitated; something just didn't sit right with this place. The park felt…_wrong_.

It was another couple of feet before Danny and Albany walked past a house with a woman out front watering her lawn. She was old and round and looked friendly enough that Danny walked up to her fence and put on a big 'aren't-I-a-cute-kid?' smile at her. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

The woman turned, a bit startled before her large lips pulled up into a big grin right back. "Can I help you, sweetie?"

"Yes," Danny said, waiting for her to move a little closer to the fence so the woman could hear him better. "My sister and I," he lied, pointing to Albany who gave him an incredulous sort of stare, "We came up here looking for a good camping spot at the park."

"Oh, that's nice," the woman smiled, a genuine expression of pleasantry on her aging face.

"Yes," Danny said, as sweet as cherry pie. "But, ya' see, we're not from around here, so we don't know where we can and can't go. Are there any private residences in the park that we should be aware of, so we don't trespass or anything?"

The woman pursed her lips a moment, tapping her chin in concentration and coming dangerously close to spraying Danny with the hose in her hand. "Well, there's a few near the west end, if I remember correctly, young man. They're all very old houses, built a long time ago just after the Revolution, you see. A lot of them are on the market with the failing economy– damned government, never like this in my time…" Danny waited patiently for the woman to snap out of her thoughts, which took a moment, but then she was smiling at him again and saying, "I think there's only about three that people still live in, so those are the ones you don't wanna accidentally end up in the yards of."

"Okay, thank you very much, ma'am," Danny said. "I hope you have a good day."

"You too, sweetie. And you too, missy," the woman said, nodding toward Albany. "Don't know how that child considers those underwear shorts; today's kids…" she mumbled while walking back to water her plants.

Danny snickered and Albany punched him in the shoulder. "What was all that about, anyways?"

"Well if the _park_ is the Sleeping Giant land, then she's gotta be in a house _in_ the park, right?"

"You're ten kinds of mental, Daniel Porter," Albany sighed, but trailed after him anyways as he picked up walking down the road again.

It was an hour and two old ladies' help later that they found the strip of private residences. By now it was almost six at night and the sun threatened to sink on the horizon.

"Danny, let's just go back to the bus stop," Albany whined, shuffling her feet after they'd gone to the door of the first private residence and hadn't gotten a hit on Violet's picture. The old guy there barely even knew his own name, so it was pretty believable he hadn't been the one to take Violet. _If she was taken_, as Albany had complained while coming back down the mile long driveway.

"Come on, Albany, there's only two more houses! We can't give up _now_."

"This is _ridiculous_, Danny."

"Listen," Danny said, turning around to face Albany and nearly falling to the ground when her gangly frame knocked into him. He righted her, going to his last resort to sway her to his side. "You remember that time when I was six, and my mom told us not to climb that tree in the park or you'd break your arm, but we did it anyways, and you broke your arm?"

"Yeah, so?" Albany asked, giving him a blank stare.

Danny ignored her question. "Or that time she said the gas station on Fifth Street was gonna catch fire, and it did? Or when Dad left for his second tour, and she told him not to go because he wasn't gonna come back, and the day before we got the news she started sobbing because she knew he was dead?"

Albany blinked, lips setting into a straight line. "Yeah…"

"Or last year, when she said that that little girl on the news that had gone missing on the south end was dead, and they'd find her in the river, and they _did_."

Albany simply nodded, and Danny figured she was catching on to what he was saying.

"Look, I'm here mainly on the fact I _know_ Vi wouldn't leave me. I know she wouldn't. But my ma, crazy or not, she's usually _always_ right about when fucked up shit's gonna happen, isn't she?" Danny asked; he'd come on the blind faith of it, knowing that something about the situation wasn't right not only because Violet was gone, but because his mother seemed to know _where_ she'd gone to. "You said that Hades, he stole Persephone away. Well, then that's what had to have happened to Violet! And the guy brought her _here_!"

"I don't know, Danny," Albany said skeptically, wrapping her arms around herself. "I mean, there have been times when your mom was wrong too, like when she said I was gonna get in that wreck junior year if I took the freeway home, and I didn't."

"Yeah, but another car did three hours later, and it was a car that looked like yours," Danny noted. "Come on, Albany. You said yourself Vi made plans with you and then just _left_. Why would she do that?"

The girl was silent for a moment then, fiddling with her red braid as the sun sank lower and lower behind them. It looked like maybe, just maybe she was going to agree with Danny about all of the facts of the situation, when suddenly some snarled kind of howling pierced the air. All of Danny's hope turned to fear, ice settling at the base of his spine as his eyes met Albany's. There was growling from the woods beside them, and something else that was too inhuman to call a laugh.

"I think…we should run," Albany said.

Danny nodded. "I conquer."

Another growl and the pair took off back in the direction they'd come from, not stopping once until they'd passed the road the cut park limits and had come back to the beginning of the neighborhood they'd last traversed, panting and sweating and collapsing in the grass. Danny could feel his clothes sticking to him like a second skin, and he thought maybe his lungs would burst.

"Since when are there wolves in Connecticut?" he wheezed.

"I don't think those were wolves," Albany gasped. "If they were, they were some mutant hybrid."

"What, like fuckin' werewolves?"

"It's not a full-moon, is it?!" Albany asked frantically, looking to the sky above them.

Danny glowered at her. "So you believe in werewolves, but not that Vi was kidnapped?"

"I never said she _wasn't_. I just never said she _was_ either."

"Well there are still two houses we can check!"

"And go back in those woods?" Albany asked, giving him a flabbergasted expression. "No thank you."

"Well then what are we supposed to do?" Danny asked, throwing his hands in the air in desperation.

"Look, Danny," Albany said, pulling out the voice she always used when trying to be authoritative. "For now we're gonna take the bus back into the city, get the truck and _go home_." She held up a hand before Danny could protest. "And if, _if_ Violet isn't back once you start going to school again, _maybe_ we'll come back up here and look at those two houses."

Danny knew she was just saying it to placate him, but he'd guilt-trip her with it when it came down to the matter. "_Fine_," Danny sighed. "But you have to promise."

Albany held up her hand. "I swear by the river Styx. And you can't break that unless you wanna die, so…"

"Okay," Danny said, getting to his feet and lending Albany a hand, pulling her up so she stood next to him. "You have a deal."

And then they began the very long trek back to the bus stop, both bristling at every little sound that escaped from the surrounding trees.

* * *

Violet couldn't sleep. She'd been trying to for the past three hours, but no matter how much she tossed and turned, her mind just couldn't settle. How could anyone's, with a revelation that you'd in fact been a Goddess in your past life? Not just a Goddess, but a queen. Of the Underworld no less.

She'd never had much fondness toward the myth of Hades and Persephone; at least now she knew why.

Sighing, she threw off the covers and sat up in bed, Marea rousing and staring at her as if Violet had grown a second head. "What?" she asked the dog, but Marea simply set her head back down on her paws and kept looking at Violet with a snort. "Maiden of Artemis," she said, shaking her head. "Of course I'd get a _dog_ as a babysitter."

Marea grumbled, seeming annoyed with the intended insult more than anything. Violet suddenly felt very stupid, taking her frustrations out on a puppy. Scowling, she wiped a hand over her eyes and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, drying it off with a towel and staring at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't have the beauty of a Goddess who had supposedly been abducted by Hades for such a thing.

Violet was plain, with lackluster skin, freckles, the occasional break-out like any normal girl her age. Her eyes were bright and round, but so were her mother's– that had been genetics. Her hair was like her mom's too. And her frame, had she let it do what it wanted, would probably be like her mother's. Petite, but soft and round with blatant curves and waspy waist.

There was no way this was the body of a Goddess, especially the way it bled oh so easily whenever she or anyone else wanted it to.

Looking to the bandages on her arm, Violet took in a deep breath and frowned at the memory of the afternoon. After Thaddeus had caught her and Logan being…_intimate_, everyone else had barged into the room and made a fuss about Logan and Violet's wounds, while Violet huddled in the jacket Logan had draped over her naked shoulders and chastised herself for having kissed him. He'd only kissed her because he thought now that she remembered, she'd be his Persephone again.

But Violet was still Violet.

While everyone had been overjoyed at the news she'd remembered who she had been once, Violet didn't feel any different. For those few moments she'd been running in the woods, it had been an almost comatose sort of state. And then that fight with those _things_ had been someone else entirely; Violet had acted on instinct and not memory. Making plants grow at a whim, yeah, that wasn't her, but somehow it also _was_. They'd always seemed fresher at her touch, and that's because she'd been bringing them back to life all along.

But she didn't feel strong, like Persephone was supposed to be. She still felt bitter and insecure and sad. She still missed her little brother and still wanted to go home. What Logan had said about the other Gods, the Titans, it had put her nerves on edge. She knew who the Titans were; of course she did. Everyone who knew Greek myth did. But she had no memory of them. Long before Persephone had been born the Titanomachy had already been won, the Titans locked in their cell in Tartarus.

Violet only remembered Persephone's life in vivid snippets, the way she remembered the important things of her own childhood. She remembered Hades, of course she did. And Demeter's touch, and the taste of ambrosia…

Violet shook her head.

Out of everyone, Wyatt had been the most relieved for her to remember. He'd told her that's why he hadn't helped her get out of here, because he said it was safer that she found out this way than on her own. It hadn't felt like the safer way. It felt like the abduction all over again; she'd been trapped in the dark, and while maybe this time it was not literal darkness, but rather lack of information, she once again felt wrong and betrayed.

Logan had just _taken_ her without even trying another route. She understood that there was trouble between the others, but she barely _remembered_ the others, let alone her own self. How was she supposed to stop the Titans from destroying the world when she didn't even know how to spell her own name in Greek?

Groaning, Violet set her face in her hands, leaning against the bathroom sink.

She needed answers, and she needed them _now_ if there was ever hope of her sleeping tonight.

Her bedroom door was permanently unlocked now, because everyone knew she wouldn't dare step foot into those woods again even if she found a way past the key codes for the doors that led outside. She stepped into the hall silently, Marea following after her. The dog had, if possible, been more careful of Violet since this afternoon when she'd sustained her injuries from those hounds and demonic monsters in the woods.

Quietly, she took the stairs to the second floor and found her way to Logan's bedroom door, thanking Evangeline for having told her where it was a few days before. Violet didn't bother to knock, guessing Logan would be up as he'd mentioned something about insomnia during one of Violet's stays in his office the other afternoon. She shut the door behind herself and Maria, finding Logan's form lying on the bed, the room dark. Okay, maybe he'd been lying about the insomnia.

_What am I even doing?_ she wondered to herself. Sneaking into Logan's bedroom at one in the morning was hardly innocent. So just as she was about to tuck tail and leave, grabbing Marea's collar to drag the dog with her, Logan called out from the bed, "What's wrong, Violet?"

He hadn't moved an inch, so she had no idea how he knew it was her, but that didn't matter at this point. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the edge of the bed just as Logan sat up and turned the nightstand's lamp on. Marea jumped onto his bed without permission, but Logan didn't seem to care. He was shirtless again, speckles of blood showing through the newest set of bandages Evangeline had put on him. Violet sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, looking at the duvet there instead of him.

"I need help," she said.

"What kind of help?"

"I need help remembering," she said, meeting his eyes. "Everything's…_fuzzy_."

Logan stared at her wearily a moment, before moving over father on the bed and motioning for her to get under the covers. Violet hesitated, but his murmur of, "It's cold; come on," and the goose bumps on her skin was convincing enough for her to do as suggested. His sheets were softer than hers, having had more use over the years. His bed smelled like he did, as well as fresh linen and even smokier. She spied the ashtray on the nightstand then, raising an eyebrow toward it.

"It isn't a constant habit," Logan said by way of explanation. "It probably takes me a month to finish a pack."

Violet nodded, remembering when Albany and her went through a serious smoking phase sophomore year because they thought it was '_cool_' and had gone through a pack together every five days. "I was wondering why I smelled it on you."

"I was wondering why I smelled vanilla on you," Logan countered.

She blushed, wringing her hands together atop the covers. "It's the body wash I use. Y'know, the generic stuff from the dollar store; a lot of girls smell like it from my neighborhood."

"How much did you make a month at home, Violet?" Logan asked, shocking her. Why did he want to know something like that? Why did it matter?

Her nose crinkled. "Enough."

"Your mom got Social Security, but that was barely coverage to pay your mortgage." Of course he knew about that. Why were they having this conversation when he probably knew every single bit of her financial history?

"We still have the benefits of my dad's G.I. bill," Violet said anyways, because he was trying his best at civil conversation and she didn't feel like being mean to him, not after how he'd saved her today. "Since he had a wife and kids when killed in action, we get benefits until Danny turns eighteen. There used to be more money, until I became an adult. But I've had a job since I was old enough to get one, so I made sure Danny never went without."

"Do you remember your father?"

"Yes. He was tall and always smelled like peppermint Altoids, and his beard always tickled when he kissed me. He was the only brunette in the house; somehow Danny and I got Mom's hair color." Violet took a deep breath to look at Logan then. "What are your parents like?"

"They're not much," Logan said, shrugging. "They were pretty wealthy by the time they got knocked-up with me. They hired Hecate–Evangeline," he corrected at a glower from Violet, "as my nanny when I was about seven. She'd already remembered who she was, so she taught me all the myths and stuff, and one day everything fit into place. I've had the shipping business since the eighteen-hundreds and left it in the care of some Nymphs whose families kept it running for me until I could come back when I was eighteen. Haven't spoken to my parents much since then except the occasional Christmas card civility."

"Nymphs still exist?" Violet asked curiously, that fact sticking with her from his story.

Logan nodded. "And basically every other creature of Greek myth."

"What about other mythological creatures. What about their Gods?"

"Beats me," he shrugged. "They're probably still around, I'd imagine. Though, a few cultures didn't actually _have_ Gods. Like the Pagans. What they called Gods were actually demons that have been around since the rest of us have. And Egyptian mythology, a lot of their Gods were actually ones the Greeks doubled as. And there are a good number in Norse mythology we've been mistake for too. And even some Chinese cultures have adapted our stories to fit their ways, the way the Romans did."

"So the Gods that aren't originally Greek though, are they mortal, too?"

"I don't know, Violet. If they are, they stay off the map and cause no trouble. Us Greeks though, we don't."

"What do you mean?"

Logan sighed, lying back against the pillows and putting his arm across the one behind Violet's head, Marea settling at the edge of the bed as Logan stretched his legs out. "Throughout the centuries, we've been bickering with each other trying to get more power. Most of us can't let our former lives go and try to do everything they can to get them back."

"How did we lose them?" Violet asked, and before she knew what she was doing, she was lying back, fit in the crook of Logan's arm. As if he expected this he let his arm curl around her shoulders, hand rubbing up and down Violet's skin. He pulled her closer then, so she pressed into his side and whimpered a bit at the pressure on her wounds, forcing her to bring her injured arm up and splay it over his chest, her legs nearly spooned over his. "What the hell?"

He smirked at her. "I saw you topless today, Violet, I hardly think spooning is the most scandalous thing we'll have done together."

A bright blush heated her cheeks and she grumbled, smacking the wound on his chest so he grunted in pain, tightening his hold on her. "I do remember you being a clingy husband," she said.

"Only in private," he said. "You hated public displays of affection."

"Still do," she mumbled. "It's embarrassing."

"We're not in public now," Logan said, placing the hand of his injured arm under her chin, showing no discomfort of the bite on his shoulder. "It's just you and me…" He leaned in and kissed her then, shocking Violet something vile. He probably didn't think he was kissing _her_, but Persephone. And Violet _wasn't_ Persephone. She was, but she was different now. Persephone had been her past; a distant memory. Violet's life as a human was in sharper focus; her emotions as a human too. And right now there was an ache in her chest at the realization Logan wasn't really kissing her for her, but for someone he wanted her to be.

As if sensing her distress, Marea groaned from the edge of the bed, an excuse for Violet to quickly break the kiss. "And Marea. Don't forget Marea."

"She's worse than Cerberus," Logan sighed. "At least he couldn't fit in the damned bed."

"Where is he now?" Violet asked, genuine curiosity coloring her words. "He isn't dead, is he?"

"No," Logan said, shaking his head. "I'd imagine he's still in the Underworld, along with Hades' judges and Macaria."

"Hades' and Persephone's daughter…" Violet murmured. "But what about Zagreus, Melinoe?"

"There was no Zagreus," Logan said. "It was a myth Dionysus made to try and confuse his enemies. The damned bastard and his beloved chaos… As for Melinoe, she walked between both the realms of the living and the dead, as the rest of the Gods could. Most Gods that involve the myths of ghosts are based around her. But, because she could travel between realms, when we were cycled into the lives of mortals, so was she."

"Do you know who she is?" Violet asked, a sudden urgency in her chest. Melinoe was not her daughter; she was Persephone's. But that made her Violet's daughter by default then, right? No, no, because then Logan would be her husband and he most certainly _was not_. And oh, my, this was all going to be very confusing to get used to.

"Yes," Logan said, easing Violet's anxiety just a tad. "And so do you."

"I do?" she asked skeptically.

He grinned. "Yes. Myrtle."


	25. The Way the Gods Fell

**A/N**: this chapter is a bit lengthy, and there's a lot of explanation behind basically everything. any questions, feel free to ask.

* * *

"Myrtle?!" Violet asked, eyes going wide. "But she…"

"She what?" Logan asked, chuckling at her and ruffling a hand in her hair. He was being so uncharacteristically tender, it confused her. "She's old, I know. But all of us are born at different times throughout the centuries."

"You keep saying that," Violet whispered softly, tracing a finger over his chest and trying not to focus on the fact of how warm his skin was. "Born throughout the centuries; what does that mean? I only remember Persephone's life and my own."

Sighing, Logan readjusted his grip on her so they were face to face, causing Violet to blush at the close proximity. In the course of a day she'd become more intimate with this man than she'd ever been with any other person. She'd given him her first real kiss, and he'd been the first one to touch her the way he had in the hall, and then again in the kitchen. And it wasn't even because he truly wanted _her_, but the woman she had been once. If anything it made Violet's cheeks flame more at the thought, feeling ashamed that she wanted him to have done all of that because of her and not Persephone.

_You're being ridiculous_, she chastised herself. _Not only have you known this man for less than a week, but he kidnapped you._ Gods, was she developing Stockholm's Syndrome so easily? Or maybe, she reasoned, the pull she'd had toward Logan since the start was _because _she'd been Persephone once, so very long ago. And he had been Hades, and they had loved each other.

_This is all so insane,_ she thought to herself, searching the darkness of Logan's eyes for something that would tell her she was not going mad.

"It's a long story, if you're ready for it," Logan said, waiting for her to answer.

Marea snored from the end of the bed, and Violet figured if the dog was so comfortable, there was no use leaving Logan's bed now. It wasn't as if she would be able to fall asleep soon anyways, not with so many questions on her mind that he was suddenly very willing to answer for her.

"Okay."

* * *

Logan sighed, brushing her hair away from her face softly. He didn't know why he was suddenly being so affectionate with Violet. Maybe it had been that he'd seen her get hurt today, too late to stop it before she was bleeding and in pain. Maybe it was that he'd admitted to himself in some strange way he wanted her– wanted her _how_ he still didn't know. Or maybe it was that he'd realized he didn't want to hurt her in all of this, and that he was going to try and keep her safe even though he'd been the one to drag her into this war in the first place.

She may have rejected him this afternoon, but he still felt the overwhelming urge to touch her. And he knew it wasn't because he had been Hades, and she had been Persephone. Maybe that played a part, but this irresistible urge to feel the heat of her skin– that was all Logan. When she'd kissed him in his office, it'd caused a spark, and their interaction in the kitchen had set the fire.

He felt like an idiot for such thoughts, and a sap because he barely knew the girl and still wanted her to stay here in his bed with him. But, at the same time, he felt as if he'd known Violet her entire life. And not just because he'd known her in a past life; she was different now, wiser and more broken than Persephone had been. More _human_, and that was what Logan liked the most about her. She was so completely flawed and yet incredibly selfless that somehow it all made sense; even if he didn't understand, it still made sense.

"What all of Persephone's life do you remember?" he asked softly, watching as her brow creased and she bit her lip, trying to think.

"I remember when she first met you– Hades, at Olympus. They got in a fight, but then it wasn't a fight anymore and…well, she wanted to see him again, I think. But she didn't. Not until she picked that stupid flower, and the next thing she knew she was in the Underworld. And she was…_hurt_. Hurt because she'd thought Hades, better than anyone else, had understood that she'd wanted freedom, where instead he kept her locked away like a caged bird just as her mother had.

"He tried to make her happy, but she couldn't be because she hadn't _chosen_ to go with him. Had he asked, she probably would have said yes. But he didn't ask. And then one day, he took her to the Apostle Meadows, and she made flowers grow, and he had looked at her in this way…" Violet trailed off, and Logan knew the exact way Hades had looked at Persephone, because it was how he looked at Violet now, like she was this fragile, mysterious being that he wanted to know everything about, and would devote an eternity to that task of. "I mean, after that she didn't completely _hate_ him. And they became friends, and then she–" Violet blushed– "well, he still asked her to marry him even after, and still she said no.

"And then Hermes came, and said Demeter was killing the earth, and Hades had told Persephone she could leave, if she wanted, but that he wanted her to stay. And she ate the pomegranate seeds. And then Zeus made the verdict, and when she came back to the Underworld… Well, she was angry again, because she'd felt trapped with her mother again, and now felt trapped by Hades again, and so it was back to square one and, well, I don't know if it was ten years or a hundred years or maybe a thousand before she agreed to marry him. I don't think she ever told him she forgave him, even when she had Melinoe, or Maleana, which were _theirs_. I know that much.

"And I know they were happy– her and Hades and the children and…" Violet bit her lip again, the blood rushing to it.

Logan reached up and gently pulled it from between her teeth with his thumb. "And what, Violet?"

"And then suddenly everything gets messy. One second I have this image of her and Hades lying in bed, and her saying she was going to ask her mother to give her more time in the Underworld with him, because they'd just decided they wanted another kid, not a rumor of one, or maybe, oh, I don't know– but she wanted more months with him, and then something _happened_. Something _changed_. Suddenly everything hurt, and it all felt different. It flashes from there, faces and images and blood. There's a lot of blood. And then she had to get to her mother, had to _save_ her, and Erebus, he promised he would help her, and he didn't and then she was _dying_ and her mother was already dead and it _hurt_ and she was screaming to keep the children out of the room, and she was telling Hades she loved him because she'd never in her life truly said the words before and then it was just…_dark_.

"The next memory I have is flashes of my house from infancy, my mom and dad, and the vague recollection of when I was three and fell off my tricycle and had to get stiches in my forehead," Violet said, seeming overly confused and overly frustrated. "What _happened_? Why'd I– _Persephone_ die?"

Hearing the words from her lips then, what it had really been like for Persephone, how she'd always felt trapped– it left Logan silent for a moment. Because wasn't that how Violet felt now? Trapped and miserable and destined to resent him forever? The guilt that the thought settled in his chest was uncomfortable, and he had the sudden urge to push her away from him, like it would make the feeling stop. He didn't like the feeling; he never had.

But eventually he reasoned with himself that it was too late now. She was here, she'd remembered, and she wanted the truth. After all the torment he'd put her through– the torment Hades had put Persephone through– Logan at least owed Violet an explanation.

"He did love her, y'know?" Logan finally said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "In his own kind of way. At first it was infatuation, but it grew into more pretty quickly, and he did love her. He just didn't want her to leave, I don't think. He didn't trust her; he thought if he let her return to the surface she wouldn't come back."

"Kind of like you," Violet deadpanned, making Logan even more uncomfortable with the situation. But then she sighed, saying, "I don't blame you," which made him relax, if only a little…

"The reason you don't remember dying…We were mortal then. Mortal memories are a lot harder to recall than the memories of a God."

"Why were we mortal?" Violet asked, brows drawing together. "How's that even possible?"

"People stopped believing in us, and without the veneration, our divinity just sort of…faded. We could still do the parlor tricks, of course. Still lived in our realms, where the mortals couldn't reach. But it was different; we weren't strong anymore. Easily killed. And we'd thought without our magic to keep them there, that's how the Titans had broken out of their cells we'd kept them in," Logan said, frowning. "Turns out, someone set them loose. We still don't know who, but the bastard may as well have just killed us all himself when he did it."

"But if you were losing power, why weren't the Titans, too?"

"They were," Logan clarified. "But they had more of it. The Titans and primordial deities are tied into creation itself– it's easier for them to draw power from their elements. It's how many of us still have extra abilities, like the way you can manipulate nature. Or Evangeline, she can still perform magic. People still believe in the Gods, just not _enough_ people, I guess. But a good amount believe in what we represent, which gives us enough strength to…well, you saw what we can do, today."

"But if the Titans got out, why didn't they destroy the world then?" Violet questioned, her foot rubbing against his calf accidentally as she shifted. It made Logan grimace– she had cold toes. "I mean, you said that there are Gods trying to break them out _again_?"

"It's because we trapped them away a second time, those of us they hadn't killed already anyways. After Hades lost Persephone, he didn't have much hope left. But along with a few of the other Gods still left, they were able to make a bond to once again trap the Titans in Tartarus. It came at the cost of their lives though. Melinoe was one of those who helped Hades, as was Hecate and Thanatos, and a few others that had survived the Titans' wrath.

"The next thing we knew though, we were born as mortals. It took a long time before we remembered what we had been, many lives for myself. And then somehow, even when we did know, it didn't change things. We've become stronger with each lifetime, the population growing called for more veneration, more power. But we're still _mortal_. We can still be killed entirely easily.

"As of late, though, others are convinced that they can somehow become Gods again. They think if they take enough divinity from the others, somehow they'll become immortal again. More than anything they want to release the Titans to _distract_ us," Logan said, rolling his eyes. The idea of unleashing such a malicious force as a distraction was ridiculous; the desperation that the Gods had developed over the ages was more than pathetic in his opinion.

"When you say us," Violet murmured, moving to sit up and stare at him with curiosity. "Who all do you mean?"

Logan remained laid out on the bed, staring at her face, and then where her tank-top slipped down to reveal the bandages on her chest, causing him to scowl. He reached out and touched them softly without thinking, making Violet freeze-up. "Zeus, Hera, Demeter, Poseidon, Hestia, Artemis, Athena, Eros, Hecate, Thanatos, Charon, Melinoe, you, me, and other reincarnations. We've found a good few, but not everyone. There is a spell that allows you to seek out their essence, but if they've already been bound to another God, it's a useless incantation."

"Bound?" Violet asked, suddenly reaching out to grab his hand, setting it down on his chest so he wasn't touching her anymore. The action startled him, turned his mood a bit sour.

"Yes, bound. As in you've come to exist with other Gods. When I told you today that we're stronger together, it's because the divinity we have feeds off each other. It's why Demeter hasn't found you, though she has tried; you're bound to me," Logan said.

Technically, Violet was bound to Hecate as she'd been the one to find the girl, but he wanted Violet to realize _he_ was the one that had a sort of claim on her. _Finders keepers_, as he'd thought when Charlotte had told him Fawn needed to know.

In Logan's eyes, Violet was his if anyone were to ask. Be it a savage kind of notion to feel like you had possession over someone, he didn't care. He wanted her; it made him selfish.

"Oh," Violet said, her nose crinkling. And then she turned to him, looking a bit hesitant. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "You keep saying Hades the way that I say Persephone– like you're not actually him, or something."

So she'd caught on to that then; he knew the girl was smart, but he was always underestimating the degree of her intelligence, and her perceptiveness too. It shouldn't have surprised him, really, that she'd notice that detail. "I'm not Hades," he said, holding her gaze. "I was, once. But I've lived hundreds of lives since then, Violet. I'm not the same person. It's like when you grow older, and you start to realize how stupid you were as a child. I've had thousands of years to learn from my mistakes."

"And yet you still kidnap me again," she said, and he expected to find harshness in her expression, but instead he found humor. "Just goes to show that you've kept your stubbornness throughout the years, then," she grinned.

"You're one to talk," Logan countered, chuckling at her. "I've never met a more insufferable woman in my lifetime. In many of my lifetimes, actually."

"Then why'd you kiss me this afternoon?"

"Just because I find you insufferable doesn't mean I'm not attracted to you."

Violet blinked at that, and then shook her head, looking a bit crestfallen. And then, suddenly she said, "I should go back to my room. I mean, I've kept you up long enough, and you've answered my questions so…"

Her words, quite honestly, shocked him. The moment she'd opened the door to his bedroom, he'd expected she'd be staying. Apparently that wasn't the case though, because she was already climbing from his bed without a word, snapping for Marea who gave a soft groan before following after her to the door. Logan simply stared after Violet incredulously, watching without a sound as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

"Goodnight, Logan," she said before closing the door behind herself, leaving him lying there in utter confusion.

Again, she'd rejected his advances. And he still wanted the damned girl.

"Fuck me," he groaned, moving to turn out the light on the nightstand and lye back down, only to find his pillows now smelled of her. "Oh fuck me _sideways_." He tossed the pillow she'd laid on across the room, turning away from the spot she'd occupied and sighing. One kiss. One _fucking_ kiss and already he was mooning after her like a horny teenager, that infatuation he'd spoken of earlier set in all over again.

Whatever he'd gotten himself into with this girl, he was way in over his head.

* * *

When Violet woke up the next morning, she didn't go down to have breakfast with Logan as she had the last five days. Instead she let Marea out of her room, knowing Logan would let the dog outside, but Violet didn't follow. She simply shut the door behind Marea after shooing her off, sinking down onto the floor to sit Indian style and mope.

She still didn't know what to think of last night. The information had been a lot to take in, and still didn't make much sense. Supposedly the Gods were the ones who _made_ the mortals– why did they need their veneration to remain Gods? And if they drew power from their element, how couldn't they have kept themselves strong even without the worship?

And when had people stopped believing? Greek mythology was still taught in Greece's school curriculum; there were tons of Greek mythology nerds throughout the world too. Violet knew that much from experience. There was fanfiction dedicated to the Gods for Christ's sake. Movies made after the heroes, books inspired by the lore.

Something about this didn't fit…

Not to mention the fact that the Gods were stealing divinity from one another. She'd always thought they'd lived in harmony, except for disputes over which city they would have to worship them… But if that were the case now, Athena and Poseidon would still be at each other's throats, but Logan had spoken of them as if they were allies.

And this spell– to find one another's essences? Shouldn't Violet have felt the pull of it when Logan had sought to find her?

But wait, her dreams, the ones where she'd been in the dark, the cold, the river of flames, a voice calling out for her, _little one_… Evangeline. _She_'d been the one to find Violet; that day at the bus stop, when Violet had blacked out, the words _found you_ ringing in her head.

How hadn't she remembered Persephone then, at that very moment?

Or the first time she'd spoken to Logan– the way she'd felt she'd known him even though they'd never met. Or when he'd brought her here, and she'd been around so many souls she had once known. Or when they touched, not just when they _kissed_.

But then she remembered that dream from last Sunday, the snippets of words, déjà vu in her head every time she looked Logan in the eye, or she'd read a myth in her textbooks that had seemed eerily familiar. She'd always played those things off, like plants perking up to her touch.

Yet there was still the matter of Logan himself. He'd said he wasn't Hades; that he had been once but he'd learned and grown and become a different person. But yet here he was making the same mistakes, earning her resentment instead of her trust. And he'd said he was attracted to her, but for whom– her or Persephone? And that pull she'd felt toward Logan from the start, was that because of him or the person he'd been?

"Goddamn it," Violet mumbled to herself, flopping back onto the floor. This was all so very confusing and she really hated it, especially when the more she thought about it, the more angry she got that he hadn't told her sooner.

_Would you have believed him?_ a voice in the back of her head asked. But would it really have mattered? He would've taken her anyways.

"The prick," she mumbled, thinking about the fact Logan had brought her here and then just dumped her on her own for two weeks to stew and panic. And now he'd come back, and in less than a week had turned her life from broken to completely shattered, not able to be pieced back together.

Groaning, she threw her hands over her eyes and started to, of all things, pray. "Why didn't _you_ let me know?" she asked a God she had kind of, sort of believed in once. Her family had been Chreasters when it came to church; strictly Christmas and Easter goers. But her grandmother– the one who'd given Violet the necklace she'd always worn before losing it the night she was kidnapped– had been a devout Catholic and had always thought there was only one God in the universe, one God who had created all. "What does this even _mean_ then?" Violet asked, uncovering her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. "Are you real? Is _any_ of this is real? Am I in a coma or something? Wait, what about Jesus? Was there a Jesus? What about _everything_? Oh, fuck, life just, life just sucks."

She continued to lay on her floor then, a good hour before Marea was whining and pawing at the door, and Violet finally went down to breakfast with all the others. It was evident Evangeline had already been through the kitchen. There was fresh squeezed orange juice and waffles lying out, as well as sausage on the stove. Wyatt was sitting at the table, and Chad came in through the kitchen doors in his robe as he usually did in the morning, grabbing breakfast to go eat out in the pool house, which doubled as his room.

Violet sat down next to Wyatt, Marea at her side and whining at Wyatt to give her some sausage from his plate. The boy looked at the dog, then Violet, and raised a brow for permission. "Why deny her?" Violet asked, and Wyatt shrugged, handed Marea half a sausage patty which she happily scarfed.

"So, uh, you feeling any better today?" Wyatt asked, nodding toward Violet's bandaged arm. There was some dried blood on it from where it'd been leaking last night, but nothing really hurt.

"Yeah, I'm good," she shrugged. "Had one cut, had a million."

"I didn't see anything, by the way," Wyatt said sheepishly. "I mean, when you didn't have a top."

"Oh," Violet blushed. "…Good."

It was silent for a while, enough that Violet felt awkward and got up to get a plate of waffles just to fill the quiet in the room. She took a bite from them and hummed appreciatively, giving half of one the Marea. The dog had probably already put on a good four pounds since she'd come to the Fairgrave house, but Violet figured there wasn't much else in a house dog's life to look forward to other than affection, running around in the yard and food, so it didn't much matter if she got fat, as long as it didn't kill her.

Scratching at the bandages on her arm absentmindedly, Violet took another bite of her breakfast and set her fork on her plate, noisily. Where the silence between her and Wyatt could have once been considered companionable, now it was awkward and uncomfortable.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Wyatt looked up at her then, a resigned sadness in his eyes when he asked, "You and Logan a thing now?"

The question brought Violet up short, expression crinkling. "_No_," she said emphatically. Sure, she'd kissed Logan, _a lot_, and he'd…_touched_ her, and expressed sexual interest, but he'd less than twenty-four hours ago said he didn't have much fondness for her, only really admitting his attraction after she'd remembered Persephone, and no sooner. Except for that night in the ballroom, but did that really count…?

"_They call them hate fucks for a reason, Violet_," he'd said.

She scowled.

"Oh?" Wyatt said, perking up considerably at her answer. "I'd of thought after you remembered who ya are that you two would've been all over each other."

"Who I _was_, Wyatt," Violet said softly. "I mean, maybe that was me once, but I'm different now, y'know? Like, Logan put it in the way: it's like growing up. You're the same from when you were a kid, but also you're not. You've learned new things, had new experiences, met new people. Life changes you, and since I've lived a completely _different_ life form what I once did, it's changed me a lot."

"So you mean you haven't had any lives before this one?" Wyatt asked, seeming puzzled. "Logan's said he's lived hundreds."

"I've just got this one," Violet said. "I don't know why, but besides the vivid details of Persephone's life, the only other one I can remember is my own."

"Huh," Wyatt said, taking a bite out of his waffles then nodding. "Well I guess that makes things less confusing then, right?"

Violet made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. "Not at _all_… But, hey, there is something you might help me clarify?"

"Yeah?" Wyatt asked, looking eager to be of help. "Name it!"

"Where'd Logan go, the first two weeks I was here?"

Wyatt paled a little at that. "I don't know if I'm supposed ta tell ya that, Vi."

"Please?" she asked, giving him a small pout and batting her eyelashes. It was a cruel move and she knew it, but she did it anyways.

"Fine," Wyatt said, caving like she knew he would. "He was off with his siblings– the other Olympians. They was trying to find more Gods, to make sure they had a good resistance against the nimrods that are all up and about over the Titans."

"Oh," Violet said, blinking. Well, that did make sense, if she thought about it. The spell Logan had talked of, if they all knew of it finding other Gods most likely would be a priority.

"It's not like anybody told me nothin' about it though," Wyatt shrugged, taking another bite from his breakfast. "But I ain't dumb. It's pretty damn easy to pick up a phone and listen to some conversations. They try to keep me in the dark about everything going on, but it's about as efficient as a wet match."

Violet laughed at that. "Of course you'd be the one to snoop… But wait, if you know about all of these things, does that mean that you're a God too?"

"Sorta," Wyatt said, then grimaced as if he were embarrassed. "I'm a Demigod. I guess my ma was stepping out on my dad when she got knocked up with me, and it was by some God that no one can track down now. Somehow aunt Ang knew about my birth though, and that's when Logan got in good with my parents to watch after me, and when he realized what shitty parents they were, he just took it upon himself to be my guardian, considering everyone's real curious who my real old man is an all."

Not to mention the fact Logan knew how terrible it was to have negligent parents, Violet wanted to add, but that was something for Logan to tell Wyatt himself. The personal things that had been said in Logan's bedroom last night were meant to be private; it hadn't been said, but somehow Violet knew it had been known when they'd told one another about their lives outside of all of this Gods-at-war bullshit.

"Do you have any powers?" Violet asked Wyatt curiously, propping her arm on the table and setting her chin on her hand. "I can make plants and stuff grow, but that isn't too great."

"Better than me," Wyatt said. "So far nothin' has happened. Aunt Ang says your powers don't really come in much until twenty-one, but I mean, you kinda disproved that."

"Well, I'll be twenty-one in less than a month," Violet offered. "Before yesterday, I was only ever able to have a really awesome green thumb when it came to tending plants. I think remembering just kick-started everything? Plus, those demon things were really freaking scary."

"I know what you mean," Wyatt nodded. "One time I got curious and tried to go out there, and Thaddeus caught me and went with. We didn't directly deal with any of them, but I watched some lizard-dog thing eat a dear. It was fucking disgusting."

"I minor in Greek myth and even I've never heard of that," Violet said incredulously.

"Tartarus, man," Wyatt shrugged. "What are you gonna do?"

"Yeah," Violet said as she watched him get up and go take his plate to the sink, her words dropping to a whisper as she asked herself more than anyone, "What are you going to do?"


	26. The Visitors

A week and a half passed.

To Violet, it felt as if she was living on borrowed time. She spent her days around the house reading, those very old book's from the library's back shelves that crumpled under a person's touch turning out to be journals Logan and Evangeline and Thaddeus had all kept over the years, as well as other Gods and Goddesses, such as Hera, Poseidon, Artemis, Zeus…

Violet quickly came to like Hestia's journals the most out of all of them; the woman was strong and adventurous and kind, and she'd lived so many different places, so many different lives all on her own. Not once was there some mention of love with a man or a woman or anyone at all. It was just Hestia, and she was happy on her own; content to be herself and helping others.

And Violet also came to have quite a fondness for some of Evangeline's latest journals, too. She'd been a part of the suffragette movement in her last life, and to hear the jibes she'd had toward the men of that century made Violet laugh for hours on end. Not to mention to see history take life so clearly through someone else's words, no edited copyrights from a publisher, just real, _human_ words.

There was one part of Evangeline's journals from her last life in particular that had Violet interested. At the time, Evangeline had been given the name Mary. She'd been born to a family that had immigrated to the United States from Ecuador. And she had loved a man named Joseph, who believed in women's rights just as equally as she had, and had cute, crooked teeth when he smiled

Evangeline had written of nights of passion, where Mary and Joseph sank into one another like two halves of a whole. He'd said soft things to her in the dawn, like his leave for war be damned, he would marry her anyways.

And suffragette by day or lover by night, it wasn't long until Mary had become pregnant. Her and Joseph's wedding had been in secret under the stars, a minister as old as time sealing the vows.

Mary had lost Joseph to the war less than two months later, and she'd lost the baby not one week more. It'd been when she was broken and waiting for death that she'd remembered who she once was. It still hadn't stopped her from jumping into the river.

And it wasn't just the ache of the story that touched Violet, but the very passion she'd read in Evangeline's words– Mary's words. Because be it past life's doing or not, Violet found herself drawn closer and closer to Logan by the day.

She hadn't seen him the rest of that Saturday after having snuck into his bed the night before; she was good at avoiding people when she wanted to. But the next day when Evangeline had taken Wyatt into town to get supplies for his upcoming school year, Chad and Thaddeus tagging along, Violet had been left alone in the house with Logan and Myrtle.

Try as she might simply to remain by Myrtle's side as the old woman knitted and talked to the ghosts around her– as Violet had quickly realized it wasn't simply herself the old woman always conversed with– Logan wouldn't have it. He'd come down to the sitting room and called for Violet's company up in his office, a man to stick to routine as always.

"I don't know why you bring me up here," Violet had said, sprawling out in one of the leatherbacks in front of his desk, Marea at her feet. "I mean, it's not as if we ever really talk about anything. You just do paperwork, and I stare at the ceiling."

"Read then," he'd said, and that was when he'd given her the first of many journals.

The next day had gone much in the same fashion, as had the next, and the next, and the next. Before finally on the fifth day, when they'd been bickering over the price quota he'd set on shipping deals– Violet didn't have much experience with any such thing but she'd been tired of reading and had felt like starting a fight with him just because she'd wanted to– he'd simply grabbed her by the waist of her dress and thrown her over his lap, mouth on hers before she could say anything about the act.

She'd let him do what he wanted, opening under him like a flower to the sun. It'd felt strange, and foreign yet oh so familiar. And she hadn't even the slightest idea of what was happening until suddenly his hand was under her skirt, touching her in a place she'd never been touched and she'd ripped away from him with such a violent force they'd both fallen to the floor, Marea barking excitedly at the fiasco.

Violet had expected anger from Logan, but instead he had just looked at her and laughed. And she'd laughed at him too, and they'd sat on the floor in his office for the rest of the day, and had drank vodka out of the bottle, and they'd told each other stupid stories of childhood antics, like Logan's first kiss ending up in a trip to the orthodontist because of locked braces, or Violet's first time on a roller coaster ending with Albany puking all over her shoes.

From then on, things had been…_different_. Easier, somehow. They didn't much talk about God-like things. Sometimes she'd have a question of a memory she'd want clarified, or ask him about his past lives while she laid in a leatherback and stared at the ceiling. He'd answer every single one, and didn't put a hand on her unless she asked him.

She never asked him.

Violet also spent a lot of time with Wyatt in the garden too, practicing growing things. He was quite awed by it, once having asked her to grow a strawberry bush because they were his favorites. She'd accidentally made a raspberry bush instead, but the boy had smiled at her, shrugged, "Eh, they're pretty good too," and had taken a handful and shoved them in his mouth, before smearing the juice down her face and laughing as she threw a handful of wildflowers at his head.

On the eighth day, Thaddeus had offered to teach her how to fight. "You might need it, with all the crazy shit going on lately," he'd said, and she'd simply nodded because he was right. No matter how much the house ignored it, there was still a war on the horizon. Evangeline had told her they'd been warned of the first snow, and Violet had never dreaded the coming winter so much in her life.

She was good at fighting; that had been an obvious fact by the way she'd outdone Thaddeus the night he'd tried to kidnap her from her house. But mainly, that had been hand-to-hand. Fighting with weapons, that was a different story. She was too small to even hold a sword, couldn't make an arrow go farther than five feet, sucked at throwing knives, and had no idea how to aim a gun. By the end of it, Thaddeus simply gave her a small dagger to wear strapped around one of her thighs at all times.

"You stick the pointy end in them," he'd said to her that night at dinner when explaining the day's events to everyone, and she'd thrown a roll at his face.

It was the ninth day that Chad told her he and Thaddeus had learned a trick to bring things back to life. "Nu-uh," she'd said, looking the young man in the face. "You're lying."

"No, really," Chad had said, and then had told her to hold on a moment, leaving for the pool house. He'd come back with a cat that was missing a foot, an ear, an eye and half its tail. It looked like one of the thing's legs had been sewn back on with nylon thread. "Bartholemule, meet Violet. Violet, Bartholemule."

"Uh, hi," Violet had said, while Marea had taken one sniff of the thing, barked madly, tucked her tail between her legs and run from the room. "What…?"

And then Thaddeus had come to see what all the noise was about and stopped in the doorway. "It's _still_ alive?!"

"One year and kicking," Chad had grinned. "Bartholemule's a tough old reanimated cat corpse."

"Is it true?" Violet had turned to Thaddeus, raising a brow.

The older man had sighed. "We found a necromancy spell in some of Evangeline's old withcy-stuff books. Tried it on the road kill cat over there, and ta-da. You'd of think it'd rotted away by now, fugly ass thing it is."

"Don't say that in front of Bartholemule!" Chad had warned, covering the cat's leftover ear.

"Whatever, Bartholemule's still a stupid name, and you know it, blondy."

And it'd been the tenth day Violet had sat in Logan's office, just on the step of the greenhouse and made all of the plants grow anew, asking, "Why do you have this, in your office of all places?"

And for once in all the time she'd known him, he'd said straightforwardly, "Because they reminded me of you."

"You mean Persephone?"

He'd shaken his head. "Maybe once. But you're not her. And I'm not Hades. We're different."

"I thought you found me insufferable."

He'd smirked, stacking papers up on his desk. "I still do."

And on the eleventh day, things changed. Violet was sitting in one of the leatherbacks in Logan's office like she usually did after lunch, reading one of the God's journals– Hera's from the eighteenth century this time– Marea at her feet, Logan doing business on the computer, when the doorbell rang.

She glanced up at Logan, who looked back at her before taking his glasses off and setting them on the desk. "Were you expecting someone?" she asked.

"No," he said, giving her a cautious look. "Stay here."

He left then, leaving the door cracked behind himself. Marea growled from where she laid at Violet's feet, and Violet set a hand on the dog's head in comfort. "Shhh…" she said softly, but the growling didn't stop.

There were voices filtering in from downstairs, loud and angry and accusing. Something crashed on the floor, like a dead weight hitting it. Marea jumped up then, running to the door and barking. Violet called after her but the dog didn't stop. Scrambling to her feet, Violet chased after the dog down the hall and down the stairs, into the entry foyer where she froze at the sight facing her.

On the steps leading down from the front door sat a man in a suit, his arm obviously broken and his face covered in blood. There was a taller, older man standing over him, who emanated power and was yelling at Logan and Logan was yelling right back. Evangeline held a frightened Myrtle still in the sitting room's doorway, while Chad, Thaddeus and Wyatt all came rushing in from the main hall at once.

"I thought I told you to stay in the office!" Logan yelled Violet's way when he noticed her presence, making her cringe. "Go back upstairs, Violet!"

"Violet?" said the older man Logan had just been arguing with. "Really now; and here I thought her name was Persephone?

* * *

The whole room froze.

* * *

Logan looked at Violet with an urgency to match any he'd ever felt before. He'd told her to _stay in the office_. She hadn't been meant to come down; and now John and Edgar had both seen her and they _knew_. They knew and they'd try to take her and they _couldn't_.

"John, don't turn this into something it isn't about," Logan warned, giving the older man a steely glare. "You came here to get Edgar patched up, and nothing more. Violet is none of your business."

"You keep calling her Violet, dear Hades," John said, large hand rubbing at his graying beard. "But we both know that is not her real name." He looked to Violet then, cobalt eyes alight. "Tell me, my child, how long have you been in the company of my brother?"

"Don't answer him, Violet," Logan said, giving her a warning glance. "Go back upstairs. _Please_."

And, to his amazement, she actually listened to him for once and began to back up, grabbing ahold of a snarling Marea's collar. Her eyes never left his and he felt the ever present ache of her in his chest flare. She'd bewitched him like a spell in little more than two weeks. His days and nights were her company, her laugh. He didn't understand how he could've ever not felt any kind of fondness towards the girl, when now that he was actually starting to know her, she was the brightest thing he'd ever seen.

Logan had had women before in this lifetime. Friendships, relationships, flings, one-night stands. He'd had all of it; he'd even been in love once, but as he'd told Charlotte he couldn't give Patricia Clarke what she'd needed at the time.

But in love or not, never once had he felt for those others what he felt for Violet.

He didn't love her, not yet anyways. But she was just so damned funny and smart and curious and deep and shy and brave and that selfish selflessness he'd seen in her before was ever vibrant. She was so very _human_ and so very _alive_ and, whether he would ever tell her out loud or not, he _liked_ her. Gods help him, he fucking _liked_ her. More than some stupid crush; he liked her in the kind of way it freaked him out because she made him want her so much.

And now John was looking at Violet as if he was ready at the very moment to take her away from Logan. And that was _not_ going to happen. Not only did he need her for strength against Kronus, against any other odds, but he _needed_ her for himself too. Plain and simple. Logan wasn't a man to lie to himself when the truth could no longer be avoided. He needed Violet like Achilles needed his heel, but that didn't mean he'd ever give Violet up. Not even to the King of Gods himself.

Violet had taken another step back in the split second Logan had let himself realize how much she meant to him, but that was as far as she got before John bellowed, "_Stop_."

At this point Thaddeus, Chad and Wyatt had all been coming to Violet and Logan's aid, but even they froze in the middle of the foyer, all looking shocked and angry and on high-alert.

"Violet," John said sweetly, using her real name at an attempt of mock comfort. "You will come down here, please."

Her eyes shot to Logan's in desperation, and while usually Violet never let anyone tell her what to do, she was giving him permission to now. And Logan knew that if he didn't tell her to do what John had said, a fight was inevitable, and she or anyone else under his care could become hurt. He and John were fighting against a common enemy in this war, but that was about as far as they made actual alliance with one another. If John wanted something from Logan, he'd find a way to get it.

Fists clenched, Logan nodded Violet forwards.

Swallowing loudly, Violet let go of Marea's collar, the dog growling and keeping close proximity to her charge as Violet walked slowly up to John, taking the hand he had offered out to her. "Do you know who I am, child?" he asked, letting his eyes sweep down Violet leeringly.

The action made Logan's blood boil, steam rising in his throat.

"Zeus," Violet said, no cadence of emotion to her tone.

"Very good," John smiled, giving her hand a firm shake before letting it go and turning his attentions back to Logan. "There now, was that so hard, brother?" And the man laughed boisterously, giving time for Violet to skate backwards, right into a frantic Wyatt's who had been all but sprinting for her before John had told everyone to cease their movements.

Violet startled a bit, turning to look at Wyatt who wrapped his arms around her protectively, making Logan roll his eyes. The boy had been pushing the boundary between friendship and romance more and more as of late. It was apparent what his affections for Violet were, and it was also apparent her affections for him were not the same. Logan still couldn't help but be a little…unsettled by his nephew's actions.

"You okay?" Wyatt whispered to Violet, and she nodded, Marea standing alert in front of the both of them.

"Come now, everyone," John said, trying and failing to distill the tension. "Poseidon and I came here meaning no harm. I was just a bit startled to see that young Persephone has been found after all." He shot a dangerous smile at Logan, before announcing to the room, "As of right now though, I am in need of a one dear Hecate's healing abilities for Poseidon, if it would please her."

"What has happened to him, my Lord?" Hecate asked, leaving a nervous Myrtle in the sitting room doorway.

John looked down to Edgar who was half-unconscious on the stairs and spitting out blood. "It seems that though we had found Metis during mine and my siblings' last meeting, she was not too apt to join our side."

"Metis did that?" Thaddeus asked, crossing his arms and raising a speculative brow as Hecate moved past him on her way to get a first-aid kit. "Now how come I find that hard to believe?"

"Well, it was not so much Metis who attacked Poseidon, as her very…displeasured pit bull."

While he'd never much cared for Edgar, Logan could sympathize with the man on the pain he probably felt from the couple of bite wounds evident through his clothes. The wound on Logan's own shoulder had been healing pretty fair the past week and a half, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch whenever pressed against, and itched like no tomorrow, too.

"Did she not know who she was, or something?" Logan asked, trying to find out why Metis had refused John and Edgar so strongly.

"No, she knew perfectly well who she was," John said as Hecate came back, first-aid kit in hand to start tending to Edgar's wounds. "But it seems she'll have no part in any of this. When I tried to…_convince _her, she sent the dog after Poseidon and pointed a shotgun at me. I was able to get away unscathed, but Poseidon wasn't so luckily, unfortunately."

"The dog went for my neck!" Edgar coughed, wincing as Hecate began to apply disinfectant to his wounds. "I should be dead!"

"Then why didn't John take you to a hospital?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow speculatively. "Whey come here?"

"Well, we were in the neighborhood since dear Metis lives just a couple of cities away, and, well, we thought that seeing as how you have four, or shall I now say _five_ Gods at your discretion, dear brother, we may try and look for more allies," John said presumptuously.

"That magic is not welcome in this house, my Lord," Hecate lied smoothly, looking up to John with authority. "You know as well as I the bonds on this house cannot hold when such power is used within, and all of those nasty little creatures out in the woods beyong would be more than happy to finish the job Metis' pit bull started, with _all_ of us."

John seemed to consider the woman's words a moment, once against rubbing at his graying beard. "I suppose you are right about that, dear Hecate. That simply means you all shall need attend the gala I am throwing this weekend for my company."

With a steadfast glare, Logan answered him, "No, we won't."

"Oh, but Hades, everyone will be so _pleased_ to see we have found Persephone! And I mean, who better to bring her than you? Certainly not myself…" Logan could see the threat in John's eyes, if it wasn't already evident enough in his words.

Either Logan took Violet and the others to this gala, or John took Violet and wouldn't give her back. The man had more money, more contacts, more power than Logan. It'd be easy for him to hide Violet away until he got what he wanted, which was in this case the lending of the divinity the residents of Logan's households held.

"Fine, _Zeus_. We will come to the gala. But just that, nothing else. No two week stay at your house again; two _days_. That's the most you'll get," Logan said, his offer final.

It was enough for John apparently, as the man smirked and clapped his hands together. "Splendid! You shall have to leave out on a flight the day after tomorrow if you wish to have time to come and settle into your hotel! All of my guests are staying there, as am I for the weekend.

"Don't worry about packing. I'll make sure you have everything you need. Food, physical care, clothes, jewelry for the ladies. Just don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Logan said, gaze weary. "But as soon as Hecate finishes with Edgar, you need to go. Wyatt has tutor tomorrow, and you know how important that is."

John followed Logan's gaze to Wyatt then, who still had an arm around Violet protectively where they'd moved to sit on the bottom of the staircase that led to the second floor. A secret glint shone in John's eyes at the sight of the boy, as well as notice of Wyatt's unhidden affections for Violet. Logan really, _really_ didn't like that. And neither did Marea, for the dog jumped up and began barking like mad again.

"Pleasant little pooch, isn't she?" John asked archaically. "Artemis always does pick the best of them."

Violet could sense the sarcasm in John's words just as Logan could. She was nothing if not perceptive. In one quick move she'd grabbed onto Marea's collar, pulling the dog against her body and cooing until Marea calmed down, a low warning growl in the back of her throat. Wyatt kept his arm around Violet the whole time. Over the years the boy had picked up on the fact he was important to John and the rest of the Gods for some reason. Just how important, he couldn't begin to guess.

It took Hecate another fifteen minutes to finish tending to Edgar's wounds, which was spent in a tense silence, occasionally filled by John trying to make idle chat– that didn't work well– and the others whispering to each other. Toward the end Myrtle started talking extremely loudly about a shade that apparently had gotten into the house, saying it was following after John and wasn't too pleasant about the man having not given his body a proper burial.

"Calm down, Aunt Myrtle," Chad soothed when Logan motioned for him to do so. "Let's just go into the sitting room and knit some more doilies, okay?"

"He hates fish!" Myrtle said emphatically. "Why'd you have to throw him in with the fish, old Zeus?"

When Hecate finally announced Edgar finished– the man looking less than alive but no longer so bloody and his broken arm in a homemade sling– John gave everyone a grand farewell, stopping in front of Violet again to grab hold of her hand, bending to kiss it.

"I shall be very delighted to see you again, young Persephone. As I'm sure your mother will too." He winked at her then, and Logan took a step forward to punch the bastard in his cocky face before Thaddeus put an arm on his shoulder, shaking his head in a silent way of telling Logan it wasn't worth it.

"See you at the gala, brother," John called as he walked down the front steps of the house toward his posh car, Edgar wobbling after him. "It's going to be a revelation inspiring event!"

Logan all but slammed the door closed, giving off an angry sigh and turning back to everyone who still remained in the entry foyer, who were all staring at him. "_What_?"

"Nothing."

"Not a thing."

"Gotta go…somewhere."

Everyone left the room then except for Violet, Wyatt giving her one last lingering glance before heading up the stairs toward his bedroom. She was hunched over Marea, trying to comfort the dog and rubbing it behind the ears. The white dress she'd been wearing had become dirty from trying to hold the dog back, dirt now marring the once pristine fabric. Her cardigan was slipping down her shoulders, showing the healing tissue on her wounded arm.

Sighing, Logan went to sit next to her where Wyatt had once been. "Your dad's a great God, huh?"

Her eyes snapped up to his, and he could tell his effort at humor had not been appreciated from the look there before she went back to tending to Marea. He rubbed at the back of his head awkwardly, letting out a breath before grabbing hold of her cardigan and pulling it farther down her shoulder to reveal the damaged flesh there, relieved to see is looked better today than it had yesterday when it'd started bleeding again for no reason. Without think about it, he leaned forwards and let his lips press to the wound, lingering a moment before pulling away.

He was so much like a horny teenaged boy around her in the way he constantly wanted his hands on her that it was pathetic. He'd thought he was past such a phase a long time ago.

She looked up at him again, her expression a bit softer this time. "So, we're going to a party? Will there be ambrosia, I assume?"

Logan laughed, shaking his head and smoothing a lock of hair away from her face. "No, if this is a gala for Zeus and his business associates, there will be regular mortals there too."

"By business associates you mean the mob?" Violet asked.

"Who do you think started it?" Logan smirked at her, to which she countered by elbowing him in the ribs and laughing.

"But there will be Gods there too, like Poseidon, and Hestia and…Demeter."

"Yes," Logan said, hands clenching into fists once again. "She's not going to take you, Violet. I won't let her."

"Because you took me first, right?" Violet asked, the guilt cutting into his nerves like a knife.

But it was still an easy thing to shake that off for him– the guilt. "Right," Logan said. "You're bound to me. That makes you mine, not hers."

"I'm not a possession, Logan," Violet said, a crease between her eyes that always formed when she was irritated. "I'm a human being with my own independent will and claim. I decide who I give myself to, and who I don't."

"I know you do," Logan said. Her independence and stubbornness was one thing that made her perpetually infuriating and desirable to him; it had since the beginning, if he was honest with himself. "But for now, you're with me, not her."

"I wish I could be with Danny," she said softly, making him hold his tongue with jealousy and regret. "He goes back to school on Wednesday, and I'm supposed to be there to pester him by taking a million photos, and leaving a stupid sticky note in his lunch that says I love him and embarrasses him in front of all of his friends."

"He'll be okay," Logan said after a moment. "Fourteen is a pretty grown-up number, Violet. When I was fourteen I'd already had sex and made my first thousand bucks."

"Don't even go there!" she warned, smacking Logan on the chest, right atop his wounds. It hurt, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of flinching. "He's not allowed to have sex until he's thirty-five and married!"

Logan laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her across his lap playfully. "I suppose your father said the same to you."

"No," Violet scowled. "He said I had to become a nun."

Logan looked at her meaningfully then, letting his gaze linger where her skirt had risen up on her legs and showed creamy, plush flesh. Gods, what he wouldn't give to be able to simply sink his teeth into her. "I don't think that's gonna happen, if I have any say in the matter."

* * *

**A/N**: couldn't help but throw the GoT reference in there. Please tell me what you guys thought of the chapter; I'm curious if you thought it moved too fast or...?


	27. The Arrival

"Oh, calm down, you big baby."

"I wouldn't test him, if I were you, Thaddeus. He's in a _mood_."

"But what kind of Ruler of the Dead is afraid of _flying_, for Gods' sake?"

"Thaddeus…"

"Oh, come on, Hecate. It's ridiculous. He's being a pussy about all of this and–"

_Thwack._

Violet blinked as she watched Logan's fist collide with Thaddeus' jaw. For his part, latter simply recovered and popped the joint in and out of place, before clapping Logan on the back and telling him to calm down; it was just innocent teasing. This seemed to dissipate Logan's anger none and his scowl deepened, arms across his chest in irritation.

They were standing in line at the terminal, preparing to board their flight that would take them to Chicago for John Storm's oh-so-exclusive gala. It'd been two days since the man's visit to Logan's house, and in that timeframe Logan had been attached to Violet's side as if kept there by superglue. Over and over again he told her how important it was she didn't leave his sights during the gala, and that she avoid Demeter– Fawn Summers, as the woman was known in this life– at all costs. And to never be left alone with John; definitely not that.

Logan had been all but frantic in showing her who at the convention was God, and who was an equally dangerous mortal. He'd grilled her on it, making her say the names again and again until they were committed to her memory as if branded there. He'd even threatened flash cards, but Violet had shut him up with the offer to make him hot chocolate and play Monopoly, which she remembered him to have said was his favorite board game. It'd been enough to reprieve his anxiety for the last few hours they were still at the house, but now that they were in the airport he seemed more uneasy than ever.

"Calm down, Logan," Violet said softly, setting her hand on his shoulder.

"How can I calm down when I keep thinking any minute you'll run?" he murmured, body pressed close to her so none of the strangers around them could hear.

She sighed, blowing a piece of bang out of her face. "Like I've told you a hundred times, I'm not going to run. I understand how dangerous this could be for Danny now. He's human, and I don't want the others anywhere _near_ him. I'm not going anywhere until I know everyone will leave him alone." After her encounter with the John, Violet had come to sound point of mind that Danny was better off left out of any of this. While she hadn't forgiven Logan for kidnapping her and, in result, making it so she couldn't see Danny, she now understood why he had done it. It didn't make the separation from Danny any less difficult, but at least she knew the cost was worth it.

Logan seemed to visibly relax under her touch. "Fine, but if Thaddeus makes _one more_ comment–"

"Aye, no problem, boss," Thaddeus said, hands up in defense. "I was just trying to ease your tension."

"Worked about as well as throwing water on the wicked witch," Chad murmured, face hidden behind a People magazine.

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. "No one asked you, blondie."

Chad let the magazine fall enough to stick his tongue out at Thaddeus, who was too busy taking his phone out to answer some text to notice the action. Violet snickered, glancing over to Wyatt who was sitting on his suitcase tiredly next to Chad. He'd been acting weird the last couple of days, like he was upset over something. Violet didn't know what it was all about, but she wanted to. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could sit by him on the plane, ask what was wrong…

Finally the party was able to board. John had paid for first-class tickets for everyone, which shocked Violet considerably. She'd never flown anywhere before, much less in first-class. She'd always had a wondrous spirit, always wanted to go to new places, new countries on an adventure, which would require flight, but she'd had Danny to look after. Life never allowed for such fantasies. Now though, she was going to the legendary city of Chicago in luxury.

It all felt wrong without Danny here to experience it with her; his sense of adventure was as big as her own.

Shaking off the thought, Violet sat in the window seat, followed by Logan. Thaddeus and Chad were in the seats in front of them, Evangeline and Wyatt occupying the ones behind. Myrtle had been left at home; she wasn't fond of traveling. Marea hadn't been able to come either, much to Violet's chagrin, but Logan had assured the dog was in very good care. Myrtle had even said she'd look after the 'rabbit' and teach her how to knit.

Irately, Violet couldn't help but think John would be a very smug over the fact that the guard animal and Goddess that so obviously did not like him had to be left behind, and couldn't be by Violet's side at the gala. It was just another reason for her to dislike the man, even if he had been her father in another life.

Out of the corner of her eye, Violet noticed Logan taking something from his pocket, and tipping his hand toward his mouth quickly. Brow furrowing, Violet reached out and skimmed her fingers over the back of his hand so that he turned to look at her, pupils dilated and a tremor in his jaw.

"Hey," she said, pressing a palm to the side of his cheek. "You're fine."

"I know," he snapped, and then his expression softened, "I know…"

"Boss, want some Xanax?" Both Violet and Logan looked up to see Thaddeus leaning over his seat, smirking at them. "I mean, sorry to ruin the moment, but they're better shit than that Valium you just popped."

"Pill-popping?" Violet murmured. "Really, you two are worse than the kids from 90210."

Logan declined Thaddeus' offer then, and with a shrug the other man sat back down. It wasn't long until the plane departed then, experience a bit of turbulence at first. Logan's fingers dug into the armrest, but Violet pried them away and wrapped them around her own. Logan eyed her cautiously, but she simply smiled at him. He'd been so tender and caring to her lately, it was the least she could do.

Eyes closed, Logan let out a breath and leaned back against the seat. When the flight finally evened out, he didn't let go of her hand. She thought to ask him to, so she could switch seats with Evangeline and maybe find out what was wrong with Wyatt, but one peek back at the boy said he was too busy listening to his iPod and staring dejectedly out the window to want anyone's company at the moment.

Sighing, Violet simply let Logan hold her hand and didn't let go.

The sights from the window were amazing, sky like the ocean and clouds like a dream. The land rolled in colored patches below her, a quilt she'd never seen with stitches made of roads. "Wow," she said.

"When this is all over," Logan murmured against her ear, "I'll take you anywhere you want."

She turned to look at him with wide eyes and he gave her a small look of sincerity, squeezing her hand. A spark lit in her chest; this was a promise of everything she'd ever wanted. But quickly, it diminished into guilt. Here she was, acting as everything was perfectly grand when really the world was crumbling to pieces around her. _All of this_ was a war between Gods that threatened to kill all of humanity.

"Just promise we'll fly coach," Violet murmured, back to gazing out the window.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because when she again woke in a cotton-candy sticky mind, it was to Logan telling her the flight was landing. She yawned tiredly, leaving her head against his shoulder where it must have fallen during her nap. He seemed to have calmed down considerably, simply staring at the seats in front of them even through turbulence.

It wasn't until they were allowed to leave the plane did she finally move away from him, stretching her limbs with aching joints. Logan wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked down the aisle toward the door, Thaddeus and Chad bickering in front of them. Violet chanced a peek behind her to look at Wyatt, but the boy was steadfastly glaring at the floor.

"Wyatt," she tried, so busy going down the landing steps the words died in her throat.

There was a pair of cars scheduled to pick them up from the airport. Logan, Thaddeus and Violet went in one while Evangeline, Chad and Wyatt went in the other. The ride to whatever hotel they were headed to was silent, except for Thaddeus' upbeat whistling, which paused every now and then as he snatched leftover airline peanuts from his suit pocket to snack on.

"Where are we going, anyways?" Violet felt the need to ask about twenty minutes into the ride.

"Congress Plaza Hotel," Thaddeus smirked. "Supposedly the old place is haunted!"

"Another reason Myrtle was left at home?" Violet asked, staring out the window at the sights. Skyscrapers rose everywhere, historic warehouses and streets lined with people. It was a myriad of color and blur; beautiful.

"Yeah," said Thaddeus. "It's bad enough Logan carries Shades around with him, not to mention the other Gods. And a bunch of mobster ghosts on top of it? Marea would be barking her head off, too."

"Why doesn't she at the house?"

"Evangeline's made it so many a Shades cannot come into the house, unless expressly attached to someone," Logan mumbled, staring out the window absently. "Otherwise there'd be more than the piano playing itself in the middle of the night."

"So you carry creatures of Tartarus and the dead with you even when mortal," Violet mused, tapping her fingers against her knee. It was just another piece of the puzzle that didn't fit this whole equation. If anything the bonds that kept the Gods' world separate from the mortals' should have strengthened throughout the years as the Gods themselves had. Monsters and ghosts shouldn't be escaping so easily…

When they finally pulled up in front of the hotel, Violet held her breath. It was off South Michigan Avenue, across from the lake and the sidewalks swarming with people. It was a gigantic structure with endless windows in its sides. _It looks like a castle_, she thought to herself, stepping out of the car at Logan's offered hand.

They got their minimal bags from out of the back of the car along with the others and walked inside, the lobby large and ornate. It looked like something from the twenties, dark carpets and wood furniture. The front desk was stretched out across the back wall, a few concierges behind it. Violet hung back with Wyatt as Logan went to check them in, the boy distant from the rest of the group.

"Are you okay?" she asked him softly.

"Yeah," he said, quickly putting on a hint of a smile. "Why would ya think otherwise, Vi?"

She rubbed the back of her head. "You've been pretty distant the last couple of days…"

"Eh, I just always get in a bad mood after seeing John."

"How often have you met him?" Violet asked, gripping tight to the bag in her hands at the man's mention.

Wyatt shrugged. "Not often. Aunt Ang had this big sweet sixteen bash for me two years ago and that was the last time I seen John until the other night. He's always real creepy around me though. Always asking how I'm doin' and patting me on the back and telling me if I need anything to call him."

"I'm guessing you've never taken him up on the offer."

"Not a chance in hell," Wyatt scowled. "Just because he's _king of the Gods_ or whateva doesn't mean I'm gonna befriend the dude. All the stories of how he wronged people, all the women he raped and families he broke…"

Violet shuddered at the thought. Even without Persephone's memories to aid her in remembrance of the corruptness of Zeus' behavior, she'd never liked the God while reading stories of him during Mythology class. He'd always been her least favorite, blinded by his power. He thought he could have anything he wanted; the whole world was just a playhouse to him. He didn't care if you refused; he just took what he wanted anyways. And then left his messes there for others to clean-up. Not to mention the fact he carelessly let Hera treat his lovers like scum, and let her curse Hercules into killing his entire family.

Persephone had had a soft spot for the hero, and his wife Megara. Ever since Hercules had come to borrow Cerberus from Hades, Persephone had found him endearing. She'd often visited him and his family during her stays on the surface throughout the year. She'd loved his children; they'd had the strength of their father and sass of their mother. Persephone had been heartbroken when they'd been killed; she'd made sure they were sent to the Elysian Fields right away, and that Hercules joined them after he'd passed.

"I can't believe he was your dad once," Wyatt grimaced. "You've never been anything like 'im."

"I think that's the best compliment you've ever given me," Violet said to him honestly, setting her hand on his forearm. "Don't be too sour, Wyatt. It's a party; let's try and have fun."

"Only if you get me drunk."

Violet laughed, and although corrupting minors wasn't usually her trade, the smile on Wyatt's face made it so she couldn't refuse. "Deal."

* * *

As it turned out, John had made it so that they all had separate rooms. How much money did the man have, anyways?

Every two suites connected to each other: Chad to Thaddeus', Evangeline's to Wyatt's, Logan's to Violet's. As she was left alone in the immaculate bedroom to stare at all the gifts John had left for her (she didn't let herself like them, no matter how pretty they were) her eyes drifted to the door that led into Logan's suite.

Shaking her head, she set her bag down on the king sized bed, opening it to find her iPod sitting on top of the stack of clothes inside. Though John had told them not to pack anything, Evangeline had insisted they all take a pair of pajamas, toiletries and clothes comfortable enough to lounge in. Violet silently thanked her for that as she put her toothbrush in the bathroom. All of the dresses John had hung up for her in the closet were definitely not something she could sit comfortably with. Besides, the silk would wrinkle in an instant if she even so much as slouched. And the only pajamas available were skimpy excuses of nightgowns, fit more for a Victoria's Secret model than Violet's lackluster frame.

Just as she was about to turn on the television and watch the news of Chicago, there was a knock on the door that connected to Logan's room. She went over to it and unlocked the deadbolt, opening the door wide to see him standing there, hands in his pockets. "I just got a call from John," he said. "Event's tonight at eight. Don't know how long it'll last until. We're free to leave any time after ten and do whatever we please until tomorrow afternoon, when he wants a small meeting with all the other Gods before we head home. Was there anything special you wanted to do, while we're here?"

His question caught Violet off guard. She thought they'd been here for business and business only. Swallowing anxiously, she let her eyes dart out the room's window toward Lake Michigan. "Can we go to the Pier?"

"Yeah, sure," Logan said, looking at the open doors of her closet then. "You okay with the stuff John gave you?"

"Yeah," Violet said, but frowned despite herself. "It's all a little…"

"Expensive?" Logan smirked.

"Yeah…"

He laughed then, bracing his hand against the doorframe. "Get used to it, sweet one. You're with the Gods now. No luxury is ever too much."

* * *

"Ow," Violet hissed, trying to be discreet about the complaint.

Evangeline heard her anyways. "Sorry, little one. Your hair just does _not_ want to stay up." The woman had been working for the last half-an-hour to get Violet's curls into a complicated chignon, clipping it in place with flowered hairpins, petals made of jewels that probably cost more than the mortgage on Violet's house alone. They were varying hues of lilac and a pale pink, the same as the dress John had given Violet to wear to the gala tonight.

The dress itself was vintage– from the twenties with a corseted top covered in silken flowers. It had an empire waist that branched out in a poof of purples and pinks, the hemline falling to Violet's feet. There was also a pair of ridiculously expensive heels to accompany it, but the height of them scared Violet enough she insisted on sticking to the modest nude flats she'd worn for travel.

"We're lucky my hair's not all tangled in this damned thing," Violet said, touching the jeweled necklace hanging from her throat. It was huge, with crystal flowers that covered over her collarbones and a chain made from diamonds. She didn't even want to think of how much it cost, or the matching bracelet that hung on her wrist.

"Oh, Gods, it's about as bad as the one Morpheus gave me for one of my worship ceremonies back in the original days. The thing was made of onyx and must have weighed at least five pounds," Evangeline said, pinning the last of Violet's curls into place.

"I think this one weighs ten," Violet sighed, her eyes sparkling like spring under the light coat of eye shadow Evangeline had applied. It was a simple nude sparkle, like the gloss on her lips and blush on her cheeks. The only real make-up she wore was mascara, which did nothing but make her eyes have a higher doe-like quality than usual; that was a bit irritating.

"Maybe fifteen," Evangeline chuckled, bopping Violet on the nose. She herself wore a clinging, plum colored gown made of a rich silk that fell to her feet in waves. Her dark hair had been fastened into a skilled braid, and the necklace she wore was simple, a little ringlet of diamonds sparkling against her russet skin. She looked beautiful, timeless and alluring, while Violet felt a bit like a stuffed goose.

Frowning, Violet stepped into her dress with a sigh– it wasn't made so she could wear a bra with it, but by this point being naked in front of Evangeline was nothing new– shimmying around as it settled against the lace of her underwear uncomfortably.

"What do we do about my arms?" Violet asked, looking at the ladder rungs of scars marring her flesh from all the years she'd marked into it. There were some fresher ones there now, like on her thighs and stomach; though she'd once used cutting as an outlet to control a body she felt so foreign in, she now used it to take out her grief. The loss and guilt that filled Persephone's memories mixed with Violet's own was more than she could stand; where cutting had once been used to numb such things, now it was a way to let all of the emotion out. Like digging bad spirits from her flesh, turning the pale of it red…

At the mention of the cuts in question, Evangeline made a _tsk_ing sound and tapped her chin in concentration. Then, with a brilliant smile, she turned to the bag of makeup she'd earlier sat on the dresser and pulled out a compact. "Best cover-up in the northern hemisphere."

Ten minutes later, Violet's skin looked flawless, a light shimmer of sparkles atop it under Evangeline's insistence to complete the look. "Thank you," Violet said to her softly, and Evangeline simply tapped her nose again.

"Any time, little one."

Suddenly, there was a renewed knock on the door that led to Logan's room. "Are you decent?" could be heard through the structure.

"Entirely," Evangeline called back.

The door opened then, Logan stepping into the room, pausing once he got one good look at Violet. He wore a dark suit, pressed to perfection. His shirt beneath was a crisp white, and his tie a blood red like the ascot in his coat pocket, dark hair slicked back and face freshly shaved. It all made him seem highly important in appearance, and Violet couldn't help but find him a bit…_alluring_ too, with how dark his eyes looked tonight. Where the intensity of it had once frightened her, now she found his gaze beautiful.

Now though, it made her blood thrum as Logan ran his eyes down her frame leisurely, causing a heat to rise inside of her stomach she hadn't felt since that day he'd last kissed her in his office. The accompanying blush was embarrassing, but she couldn't help it and just stared at the floor as he continued his looking, Evangeline giving a small laugh and excusing herself to go check on the others, leaving Violet and Logan alone in her room.

"You look beautiful," Logan said at last.

Violet looked up slowly, arms crossed over her chest. "I feel kind of stupid. I mean, I'm covered in concealer, and can't even wear a bra with this dumb thing," she blurted before thinking.

At the mention of the latter, Logan unconsciously licked his lips, before clearing his throat and shaking his head. "Concealer?"

"Not my face," Violet said, which was probably obvious anyways by the ever mounting redness in her cheeks. "My, uh…_y'know_."

Understanding seemed to dawn on his face then, and Logan's expression softened. "Should I not touch you then; will it smear?"

"Evangeline promised it wouldn't," Violet said softly. "Just…help me stay away from direct light, yeah? I don't really like people seeing them."

"I've noticed that from the layers you so often wear," Logan said after a short silence. "You shouldn't be ashamed of having struggles, Violet. They make us who we are."

"I know, it's just, I feel…_dumb_," she said, then frowned because maybe that hadn't been the best adjective to use, so she felt she needed to further explain. "I don't have a bad life, not like a lot of people. And I mean, everyone thinks it's mostly a stupid fad or something anyways, a bid for attention. But I don't do it for that, I just…"

"Hey," Logan said, closing the space between him and setting his hand upon her cheek. In the last three days his touch had become more frequent than it had been the week before. She didn't mind it. "I know it's not for attention. I don't condone you doing it, but I _understand_."

Violet simply nodded in answer to him, not expecting it when he slowly raised her wrist toward his lips, one of the newest wounds there sticking out from the cover-up no matter how hard Evangeline tried to conceal it. In a chaste and tender gesture, Logan pressed his lips to the cut, electric heat, before letting go of her hand, meeting her eyes with an expression she couldn't discern.

"Oh," she finally said. And then winced at the stupidity of it. "Thank you?"

Logan chuckled, taking her hand once more to lead her to the door, into the hall and down toward the party of infamous mortals and Gods. "Just stick with me, sweet one. I'll take care of you."


	28. The Gala

**A/N**: Again, this one's for Anna. You'll see what I mean in a few seconds, bro.

And I'd also really like to thank Athena of the Greeks and Madame Thome and everyone else for all of your wonderful reviews and support from the start. Thank you all so much 3

* * *

"Don't worry, little one, you'll be fine," Evangeline murmured as their group rode the hotel's elevator down to the first floor.

"I feel like Pretty Woman," Violet murmured, causing Wyatt to laugh from beside her and Logan to turn and glare.

"What's so funny, kid?" He'd been particularly snappy toward Wyatt lately, and Violet hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Nothin'," Wyatt lied easily, shooing Logan's attentions back to the elevator doors.

"You're a regular masochist," Thaddeus whispered, clapping Wyatt on the back.

"I don't even know what that word means," Wyatt said, line forming in his brow.

"You like causing yourself pain," Chad said, adjusting his bowtie self-consciously. "Which, with your track record in women, is very appropriate."

"Women," Logan scoffed. "He's eighteen, Chad. He's dated _girls_."

"And a boy," Thaddeus interjected.

Wyatt bristled. "I told you, Jared was a _friend_, goddamn it."

"Yeah, and I'm from Tallahassee," Thaddeus quipped. "We've all been a little gay in our lives, kid. Just admit it already."

Wyatt opened his mouth for a more than likely sassy retort, but Violet beat him to the chase. "Where are you from really, Thaddeus?" she asked, if only to dissipate the tension. An elevator was only too big for the possibility of throwing punches, after all.

"The Ukraine," Thaddeus said, and she thought it for a joke until she saw the seriousness in his expression. "I was kind of a Commie, for a while. Don't hold it against me."

"Dude!" Wyatt said. "Even I didn't know that! Where's the creepy-as-fuck accent?"

"Language, Wyatt!" Evangeline warned at the same time Thaddeus said, "Dropped it after the end of the Red Scare," and Chad gave the man an incredulous sort of look while Wyatt tried to defend himself against Evangeline's disciplining tone.

"Would you all just _shut_. _Up_?" Logan asked, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as the elevator came to a stop, doors opening to a view of the hotel's lobby.

He took Violet's arm in his own then, dragging her from the elevator and toward the area where the events room sat. There was a sign in front of it explaining the party being held inside was for John Storm and his business associates. _Mafia_, Violet couldn't help but think to herself. It seemed like the kind of shady dealings John would be involved with. Especially after the whole _sleep with the fishes_ comment Myrtle had made. Unless Violet had been mistaken, that was an expression taken from the Scarface sort of profession exclusively.

The louder the sound from inside of the room got, the more tense Violet became. She dug her nails into Logan's arm, wrinkling the fabric of his suit. "You'll be fine," Logan whispered to her, even as she saw Wyatt looking just as nervous as her out of the corner of her eye.

When the doors in front of them opened, she forgot how to function for a moment. The room was absolutely beautiful, with arched ceilings painted in rich gold and mural. There were stone cherubs and chandeliers hanging from the walls, a balcony encompassing the entire room with alcoves hidden behind thick curtains. The floor the gala was being held on had rich carpets, amazing architecture and a dance floor made of marble. There were a few tables here and there, with pristine cloths and flower arrangements more beautiful than Violet could have dreamed; how did they get the roses to grow so perfectly, so large? Those were one of the hardest plants to keep alive, let alone make so beautiful.

"Damn," Chad said, expressing Violet's amazement in words. "Wonder how much ol' Hera docked Zeusy in paying for the decorating committee?"

"I'm sure it's a small fee, in John's eyes," Thaddeus said nonchalantly, and then with much more vigor, "Oh, look. Alcohol!"

He veered off from the group then, grabbing Chad by the lapels of his suit jacket and taking the younger man with him. There was a bar running along the west wall of the room, open by the appearance of the crowd gathered around it. Violet could see the bartenders busily dishing out drinks, giving attractive smiles and easy laughs like they were best friends with all the dangerous looking people they took orders from.

In fact, the more and more Violet looked about the room the more uneasy she felt. Everyone here looked civilized, of course. Rich and demure with the women in their fashionable evening gowns and men in pressed suits, but their demeanor was…_off_. They all moved with an air of threat, as if saying _mess with me and you won't see the morrow_. Most seemed arrogant, aloof, laughing in haughty groups and sipping champagne and scotch from crystal glasses.

_I really don't belong here_, Violet thought to herself nervously. The closest she'd ever come to champagne was the cheap stuff given out at a wedding for a family friend. It had tasted the way rubbing alcohol smelled and wasn't bubbly at all, but rather harsh going down her throat.

"Shall we sit?" Evangeline asked, gesturing to an open table in one of the darker corners of the room.

Wyatt and Violet both nodded eagerly, wanting to get out of the spotlight of the room as people began looking their way and murmuring to each other about the newcomers of the gala. Logan pulled Violet's chair out for her when they reached the table; she thanked him as she sat, the bracelet on her wrist jangling and heavy. He asked if she wanted something to drink and she nodded eagerly.

"Vodka, any kind of vodka," she gasped out, causing Logan to smirk. He'd learned the day they'd drank it in his office it was her booze of choice.

"Can I have something too?" Wyatt begged, giving both Evangeline and Violet puppy eyes so they'd plead his case.

Evangeline was surprisingly the first to cave, having cast uneasy looks about the room since they'd entered. "You can have something mixed."

"Rum and coke," Wyatt said without hesitation, and Logan nodded, a thin line of lips.

"And you, Evangeline?" Logan asked. Usually in the private of the house, he addressed Evangeline as Hecate, but in public it was necessary to keep up appearance.

"I'll have a gin and tonic, please," Evangeline said softly.

At all of the orders taken, Logan headed toward the bar, leaving the party of three on their own. "I feel dumb in this monkey suit," Wyatt said after the moment of terse silence that followed his uncle's departure.

"I feel dumb in this monkey dress," Violet retorted, and the two shared a mutual look of discomfort.

"Oh, come now children," Evangeline sighed, waving a hand at the both of them. "It's a party. You should be much more excited than this."

"Some party," Wyatt scoffed. "Everyone's just standin' around talking to one another about probably poppin' kneecaps or whatever and the music sounds like something from the lobby of a doctor's office. Parties are a lot more happening than this."

"Maybe parties for teenagers," Evangeline smirked, a challenging raise of her brow.

Wyatt scoffed at her, about ready to make a snappy retort when a waiter of some kind came up to the table. "Shrimp puff?" the waiter asked, giving everyone at the table a selling smile.

"No thanks," Violet was the first to say. She'd managed to gain seven pounds in the last week and a half at Logan's insistence she eat like a normal person. Snacks had quickly become a thing that frightened her beyond belief. It was luck she even fit into this dress– then again, most of it had gone to her thighs, she thought with a scowl.

"Shrimp _puffs_?" Wyatt asked. "I ain't eating anything with the word _puff_ in it."

"No thank you, young man," Evangeline said, giving the waiter a polite smile as she dismissed him. He moved away from the table quickly, obviously off taken by Wyatt's comment, if his expression said anything. "Wyatt, it's just food," Evangeline chastised.

"_Puff_? Shrimp _puff_. What'd they do, Aunt Ang, fill the thing with a cloud? No thank you."

Violet couldn't help the snicker that escaped her, quickly bringing a hand to her mouth to cover the sound as Evangeline turned her authoritative expression Violet's way. Just as the customary blush of embarrassment was about to rise on Violet's cheeks, she noticed Logan heading back to their table. Only this time, he wasn't alone. With him was a tall woman, draped in rich silks with a figure like a model. At her side was a shorter, plumper woman with brown curls shinier than polished glass. They both had a flute of champagne in their hands and were looking at her.

When the three reached the table, Violet bit her lip and said a small _thank you_ as Logan handed off her drink, expertly balancing the others in his arms. She took a sip, avoiding the women's eyes, the burn down her throat welcoming. There was the whisper of pomegranate in the bottom of the glass. It made her smile softly, wanting to laugh but too nervous to under the new presences at the table.

"Hey, Aunt Charlotte," Wyatt said happily to the shorter woman, reaching out to embrace her.

_Charlotte_… Violet blinked, the name clicking into place almost instantly. _Hestia_.

Charlotte laughed– the sound of French bells and hugged Wyatt back tightly. "Hello, Wyatt. _Comment allez-vous_?"

Wyatt gave her a cheeky smile. "I'm good, thanks. How are you?" _Since when do you know French?_ Violet wanted to ask, but instead kept her mouth shut as she observed the taller, more regal woman was giving her a hard once-over.

"Logan," the woman said when she saw she'd caught Violet's attention. "Why don't you introduce us to your friend?"

"You know who she is, Helen."

_Hera._

Violet didn't know whether she should bow or climb under the table and hide. Hera had never been fond of Persephone. How could she have been, when Persephone was the love child of Hera's husband and elder sister? She'd always scorned Persephone, turning her nose up at the child. At the girl's birth she'd given her the gift of cursed love, and oh how right the curse had come to pass.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Violet," Helen said after a moment, blonde strands of hair curling around her bony shoulders. "But good heavens, you look so different from the last time I saw you. So…_mortal_."

"Helen!" Charlotte snapped, but Violet simply shook her head, a spike of courage in her veins.

"It's quite alright. I've never claimed to be anything other than human," Violet said softly, tracing the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. She missed Logan's proud smirk at the action. "It is lovely to meet the both of you though. I like your dresses; they look an awful lot more comfortable than mine."

"Sorry about that, sweetheart," Charlotte laughed, pulling out the seat next to Wyatt as she took a sip of champagne demurely. Logan offered out a chair to Helen, who glared at Violet as she sat. Rolling his eyes, Logan took the seat next to Violet's and brushed his hand against her knee underneath the table in reassurance. It didn't much help, especially in the way she noticed Evangeline guzzling her drink down nervously now that the other Goddesses had officially taken seat with them. "I'm afraid Molly and Alice have a real flare for vintage," Charlotte continued, motioning to her own sixties inspired ball gown. "They went a tad overboard coordinating all of the…ahem, _Goddesses_'_–_" (that part was whispered)– "dresses."

"Molly and Alice are here?" Logan asked, taking a glance about the room. "Is Tamara with them…?"

"No, no, dear Logan," Charlotte said. "They're not at the gala. It's just us, Edgar, Fawn and John as far as _family_ goes. But Molly, Alice, Tamara and all the others shall be at the meeting tomorrow, rest assured."

"Why's it just us at the shindig then?" Wyatt asked, half his drink already gone. "Don't tell me I put on this stupid suit for nothin'."

Helen was the one to speak then. "No, young man. John was going to invite the others, but some of them are still…_adjusting_ to their new identities. Plus, he wanted to make sure Fawn first found out about Violet in a public setting so that no dangerous actions occurred."

"_You didn't tell her yet_?" Logan all but growled, his hand once again returning to Violet's knee and gripping at it tightly to the point Violet winced, knowing there would be bruises there in the morning.

"No, dear big brother," Helen grinned, extra sass and charm. "We wanted to leave that honor to you."

* * *

It was two hours and three drinks later when Wyatt insisted Violet come to the dance floor with him. By now a crowd had formed, the once dangerous and conceited guests reduced to drunken idiots spinning each other around to ballroom music.

Helen and Charlotte had spent another thirty minutes at the table with them, before dragging Logan off to go talk to their other three siblings. And break the news to Fawn. Violet had heard yelling even from across the room; a woman looking her way with familiar spring eyes, but then both she, Logan and Charlotte had disappeared. Now only Helen, Zeus and Edgar remained, talking with the more sober party guests and laughing and shaking hands and doing business. Apparently before his departure, Logan had managed to grab a very buzzed Thaddeus to back up his side of the story, leaving a drunken Chad to sit at the table back with Evangeline, staring into the bottom of his cocktail glass and chattering with the woman about the disaster this gala had turned out to be.

"Wyatt, neither of us know how to waltz!" Violet insisted as the boy now pulled her farther onto the dance floor, trying not to trip over her own feet or the alcohol in her system. Her lips still tasted like pomegranates when she licked them.

"No problem, Vi. Stay here a minute, I'm gonna go tell the DJ to switch up the tunes." Before she could protest, Wyatt had disappeared into the crowd, leaving Violet in the mass of stumbling bodies. She hunched in on herself, trying to keep her skin from the direct light of the dance floor as the concealer on her fresher cuts had started burning and turning red long ago.

Someone bumped into her and she squeaked, followed by another bump before her hip hit a table. "_Ow_."

She turned in search of Wyatt, only to find he'd made it half-way through the crowd before being snagged by John, who was clapping the boy on the back and booming in his ear heartily. Wyatt looked painfully uncomfortable, and when he caught Violet's gaze he mouthed '_mission failed_' followed by a frown and an '_I'm sorry_'. Violet tried to give him her best smile, feeling even worse for him than he must have felt for her. She would save him, if she could. But knowing John, he'd just suck her into the conversation and that would get them nowhere.

'_It's okay_' she mouthed back to Wyatt instead, then tipped her head toward their table in an '_I'm going to go back_' gesture. Wyatt nodded, before being forcefully steered off toward a group of scary-looking men with John's hand on his shoulder, the man's laughter towering over the crowd.

Sighing, Violet turned to do as she'd told Wyatt she would, when yet _another_ person crashed into her. All the air rushed from her lungs and she let out a small sound of pain, stumbling and almost falling over before righting herself. She was about to say she was sorry when the man who'd run into her– a short, squat man with thick hair and mean eyes– glared at her and barked out, "Watch where you're going, woman."

"Woman?" Violet asked, brows drawn together and obvious insult on her face at his demeaning tone.

"What? You got nothing between your ears there blondie, couldn't hear me right?" the man sneered.

Violet bristled, hands clenching into fists and about to walk away from the situation all together when suddenly the man's shoulder was yanked back. He stumbled, foot over stumpy foot. "I think you'd better get outta here, buddy." The man's shoulder had been grabbed by yet another man; only this one was taller, shoulders broad. He hair was curled and the color of the sun, hand strained as he yanked the man who was harassing Violet farther backwards and away from her.

"Who do you think you are?" the man who'd been harassing her asked the man who was holding him, thick brows drawn together.

"Look," said the other man. "You've had too much ta drink. You should go walk it off."

"Now listen here you blundering asshole, I am Edward Skar–"

The golden haired man's tone turned from easy to hard in a second. "Go. _Now_."

Whatever the man who had harassed Violet saw in the golden haired man's eyes, it was enough to make him balk, stammer out a grumbled apology to Violet and turn on his heel to leave. Violet looked after him, blinking in shock. She'd only ever seen a man look that freaked out the first time she'd met Logan, when Jason had been incessantly hitting on her and Logan had told him to get lost and the squeeze had tucked tail and ran faster than she'd thought possible.

"Terribly sorry 'bout that."

Violet's attention was taken back to the golden haired man then, and she noticed his stance seemed harmless again. "Excuse me?" she asked softly, still shocked from the whole situation.

The man smiled at her, crinkles in the corners of his amber eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked instead of answering her question. "You're not from around here, right?"

For a moment, panic bubbled in her chest for no rational reason. "Um, no… No, I'm not." _How does he know?_

"Are you from Boston, by any chance?" the man asked, and it was then she placed his slight accent– downtown, definitely.

_How– _"Yes," she said, despite herself. She didn't know him; he wasn't familiar to her at all.

"No way," he said anyways. "Me too!"

She simply gave him a polite smile, feeling uncomfortable and not knowing what else to do.

He seemed to pick up on it. "Forgive me; I'm bein' rude. My name's Michael." He held out his hand then; Violet stared at it for a moment before slowly meeting it with her own, keeping her wrist turned away from the light. His grip was strong as he shook her hand, keeping her gaze with his crooked, white smile and kind regard. "Last name's Haleson. What about you?"

"I'm Violet Porter," she said.

"Nice to meet you Violet Porter," Michael grinned. "Y'know, I must've seen you around home then, since you look familiar and all. I mean, I'd never forget a girl with such a pretty face." She tried her hardest not to blush at the cheesy compliment, but did anyways. "You ever go south side?"

Violet did; she'd had jobs down that way, as had Albany who she often visited. Olympus was on that side of town, even. Violet had also gotten the tattoo on her hip from a shop down there– one Evangeline had asked about a thousand times and she'd never explained– and had taken her mother to many a doctor's appointments in the area. _leHHhhh_

"Yeah," Violet said after a moment, biting her lower lip nervously. "I used to work at the old diner there by Lincoln, a couple years back."

"No kidding?" Michael beamed. "I went in there for coffee every other Thursday morning when I was working at that garage off of Ford. Y'know, that one with the monster truck tire for the–"

"For the sign," Violet laughed, some of her nerves dissipating as if Michael's easy manner was spreading to her like an infection. "Were you still there when those kids spray painted the mustache on that giant pin-up girl decal they had hung up in the window?"

"Oh, yeah," Michael chuckled. "Old Pete– the owner– he never stopped raving about that. You'd think they'd defaced his wife or somethin'."

Giggling, Violet slunk back against one of the tables and smiled up at Michael, eyes shining. It was nice to hear about home. It felt as if she'd been gone for so long, even if it hadn't been a two full months yet. (_Gods had it really only been that short amount of time?)_ She couldn't help but think of Danny then, and how he'd start school in a few days and she wouldn't be there for him. Suddenly her expression fell and she sighed, rubbing at the back of her head and thinking of an excuse to tell Michael so she could go back to the table and mope.

As if sensing her distress, Michael lent a hand out toward her. "Hey, you wanna dance? I'm no good at waltzing, but I know how to sway without steppin' on your feet."

"Oh, I don't know," Violet said, glancing into the crowd in sight of anyone she knew. "My friends might not–"

"Come on, please?" Michael asked. "You're the first sight of home I've gotten in weeks."

"Well," Violet said. "O-okay."

She took his hand, warm and callused. He pulled her onto the dance floor expertly, smelling entirely of oil and powder and sweat. It was so much more different than Logan– less earth more blood. Violet let her senses adjust to it, looking up at Michael with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Logan was taller than him, she realized. She didn't have to bend her head as much to see Michael's face, the slight stubble on his jaw. His breath smelled of clove cigarettes and scotch, a common Boston man sort of scent.

"How come you haven't been home in a few weeks?" she found herself asking absently, trying not to be too aware of his hands as one settled on her hip– cupping it whole– while the other took her own. She laid her free hand on his shoulder, the fabric of his suit soft under her touch.

He shrugged. "After that garage, I decided to go back to college. Got a real degree for engineering and stuff; made some deals with a few of John Storm's executives. Still work on the south side in Boston tinkering in…_mechanics_." The swayed a bit more vigorously to the music at that word. "But when convention calls, you go for it. This gala's about the sixth one I've been to this month. Gotta get in good with the partners, and Storm's been making a lot of deals lately."

"Can't imagine why," Violet mumbled with a roll of her eyes, knowing full and well John was trying to increase his profits to aid himself for whatever kind of trouble was on the horizon with the others. How he thought money and modern weapons would help them against the Titans, Violet had no idea. Zeus had always been too jaded for his own good.

"What about you, Violet Porter. What are you doin' so far from home?" Michael twirled her expertly, catching her clumsy limbs off-guard as she grabbed against him desperately to right herself. "Easy there, darlin'. Don't want you to fall."

She gave a nervous laugh, staring at her feet. "I'm um, her on business too…"

"Is that so?" Michael asked, pressing closer to her.

She took in a deep breath, looking up at him in surprise. There was a dark glow to his eyes now, liquid gold smoldering under the lights.

"I, um, I…" her head felt so dizzy from all their dancing– had they been dancing so long? And he was just so _warm_ against her, where Logan had always felt cool and right and this didn't feel wrong but it didn't…

Swallowing nervously, Violet tried to stumble back from Michael's grasp but it was too strong; the worst part was that she didn't even know if she _wanted_ to get away. There was just some sort of pull from this man… Not in a way that she necessarily felt attracted to him– though he was very attractive, more so than even Thaddeus who was the best looking resident of Logan's house– but rather she felt as if she _needed_ him, like something inside of her craved something inside of him.

"And what kind of business is that, Violet?" Michael asked lowly, his mouth dangerously closed to her skin and he dipped her back slightly, their whirling and dancing making her senses dull.

"I don't– I, what are you…" she trailed off, brows pulled together as she looked up at him and felt like there was fog in her neurons, a mist creeping in.

"_Excuse me_."

Michael righted her then, pulled back and let her breathe. She choked in a deep, greedy breath of air, her senses no longer tinged with the blood and war Michael smelled of, but the sweat and cleanliness of the ball room. She let her eyes focus, enough to make out Logan, standing there looking tall and powerful and _terrifying_ as he glared daggers at Michael, hand still balled into the sleeve of Michael's suit jacket where Logan had pulled the man off of Violet violently.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Logan asked, so livid Violet thought steam was going to come out of her ears, or the floor would crack open and Hell itself would break lose, a very real possibility. Logan shook Michael's arm a little aggressively then, his eyes so dark Violet didn't know where the irises ended and the pupils began "Who the hell said you could put your hands on _my_ girl?" he growled, and Violet realized with shock he was talking about _her_.

And oh Gods, this was not going to end well.


	29. The Admission

**A/N**: Precursor warning: extreme adult themes of sexual nature in this chapter. If you're not comfortable with such a thing, probably just skip the whole chapter because it's definitely M. Just message me and I'll give you a run-down of anything important you missed. Besides the sexy-times, I mean.

* * *

Logan didn't know if enraged was even strong enough a word to describe what he was feeling at this moment.

He'd just spent nearly an hour and a half arguing with Fawn that she would _not_ be taking Violet away from him. Violet would remain by Logan's side until after this whole war of sorts was figured out, and after if Violet so wished. He was not about to lose her to his jealousy-stricken sister.

And Logan sure as hell was not about to lose her to some golden boy from the south that thought he could try and put the moves on _his_ girl so blatantly. It was not only an insult to Logan's ego the man would so dare as hit on Violet who was so obviously taken, but an insult to his pride to see that Violet had been a sort of enamored with this man, staring at him with wide eyes as they whirled together like a prince and princess on the dance floor.

By now, Logan's yelling had grossed enough attention that a few people were staring at them. He didn't give a fuck. Golden boy was going to keep his hands _off_ of Violet, or so help him, Logan would simply cut the appendages off at the wrist so the man would have no choice.

"_Your_ girl?" Golden boy asked calmly, raising a brow in speculation. "She never said to be taken when I asked her to dance."

"Doesn't matter," Logan snarled, free hand balling into a fist. He saw red, about ready to strike. "You keep your paws off of her, got it?"

"Logan? _Logan_!" He turned then, a bit dazed to see Violet glaring, her cheeks flushed and her posture rigid. "Stop it!"

It took a moment for her words to register. "Stop it?" he asked at last, the request sounding dull on his tongue. "Why?"

"Because I asked you to," Violet said, tone softening, eyes pleading.

And how could he say no to that?

The few people that had been staring turned away as Logan dropped hold of golden boy's arm, giving a dissatisfied snort. It was only then he realized Charlotte, Fawn and Thaddeus had followed him to the middle of the dance floor in his search for Violet, the latter looking like he'd been ready to pull Logan out of a fight at any moment. Just as well; Logan probably would've punched golden boy right in the teeth had Violet not stopped him. There was still anger there in his blood, setting his nerves on fire.

And he wasn't about to let golden boy or Fawn or anyone else take Violet's attentions away from him anymore. He'd wasted more than enough time with that kind of bullshit, and he was done with it.

Without a word, he grabbed hold of Violet's hand and dragged her forward, motioning to Thaddeus to hold everyone off; the older man nodded in understanding. "Oh, Persephone–" but Fawn was blocked by Thaddeus right off the bat, Logan pulling Violet along.

It was easy enough to slip out of the ball room unnoticed. John was busy with his associates; golden boy hadn't followed them; Thaddeus and probably Charlotte, too, had Fawn nailed down. The moment the doors shut behind them, Violet opened her mouth– probably to ask what the hell Logan thought he was doing– but his own mouth was on hers, body pushing her back into the wall harshly, all the breath left from her lungs so she gasped and he could deepen the kiss, wanting to taste every inch of her mouth. There was still the whisper of pomegranate there, the sting of vodka on her tongue.

She was the one to pull away first, of course. "What–what are you doing?" she gasped as his hands gripped at her waist, as if trying to touch her skin through the fabric of her gown. He could burn it right off, he thought. Take her right here and now; claim her like some primal _need_ in him screamed to do.

"I'm tired of people trying to steal you away from me," he said, leaning in the press his lips against her throat, tasting salt and sweet and _Violet_. She gave a startled squeak as he bit down into the skin, marking her with the sweetest hint of blood. "You're _mine_, not theirs."

"I'm not– I'm not a possession, Logan," she said breathlessly, hands braced to his shoulders. "I'm my own–"

"You're your own person, yeah, yeah yadda yadda; _shut up_," he hissed, crashing his mouth onto hers, bending her body back so she had no choice but to press against him, hips bowed to his. "You're you and that shouldn't ever change," he groaned between kisses. "But you belong to me."

"But _why_?" she gasped out, panting and writhing under his grip. At any moment someone could walk out of the party and catch them; he knew it made her nervous but he didn't care. He wanted them to know he was the only one that could have her. "I thought you didn't even have '_much fondness_' towards me, as you put it… Why want me so much now all of a sudden?"

He pulled back from her then, bracing one hand against the wall so he could look down at her, tip her chin up with the fingers of his free hand. "You stupid, stupid girl," he laughed, kissing her hard and aggressive. "If you really think my affections have not changed, or that they were less than _wanting_ in the first place, you're not as bright as I pegged you."

She huffed at that, shoving him away as he tried for another kiss, ducking under his arm and beginning to walk toward the lobby, arms crossed over her chest. "You never said anything different, _asshole_."

It was easy to catch up with her; she was breathless and he was full of coiled energy waiting to explode. He wasted no time looping his arm around her waist and ignoring her glare at the action. "I thought it was obvious the day you kissed me, and I kissed you back."

"You were only kissing me because I remembered Persephone," she said as they neared the elevators, her tone making it sound as if the idea was the most blatantly obvious thing. "That's the only reason you've ever wanted me, is for her." She pushed the _up_ button and would not meet his eye, even when he tried his hardest to meet hers.

"Violet," he said as the doors opened, following her inside. "Violet– _look at me_." When she didn't he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her gaze. "Violet, I have _never_ wanted you because I've thought of you as someone else," he said, teeth grit at the very idea. Adrenaline still ran through his blood and he wanted to punch something for being such a fool and confusing her so. "Maybe in the initial attraction between us it was Hades and Persephone, but everything I feel for you now is for _you_. For _Violet_. Not Persephone. And I feel it as _Logan_, not as Hades. There will always be the love of Hades for Persephone in my soul, I can't change that. But you're _different_. We _both_ are. And I feel for _you_, Violet. Only for you."

"But what is it you feel for me?" she asked as the elevator rose– he hadn't even realized she'd pressed the button. Her eyes were glassy, as if she were about ready to cry and it made his heart feel as if it were about to beat out of his chest. God or not, right now, in this instant, he felt so completely _mortal_.

"I don't know," he said to her honestly, quickly wanting to explain as her expression fell. "Violet, I have been in lust a thousand times before; infatuation too. I've even been in love. But what I feel for you– it's different from all of that, Violet. In all the lives I have ever lived, I have never felt for another what I feel for you. I don't think I even felt this strongly as Hades for Persephone; I don't think I had the capacity to. But you, with you it's different. You're so goddamn stubborn and selfish and intelligent and funny and kind. You have me bloody fucking _unhinged_ and yet I still can't get enough of you." He let his voice drop, body pressed into hers so she could see how much he wanted her. "I want _you_."

Her short intake of breath was the only direct response that he got from her. He thought that would be the end of it then; she'd rebuff him and tell him to leave her be and he would because he'd do whatever she asked by this point other than fully let her go, and that was just to protect her and kill the very man that had ripped her away from him in the first place.

But then her arms were around his neck, her mouth on his own. She gave a small whimper, igniting the fire within him once more. He groaned, hands fisting in her hair and pulling at the strands, clips coming out between his fingers. The elevator doors _ding_ed open then, and he spun her, bodies pressed together as they stumbled out of the elevator, an elderly couple overly shocked by their dramatic display of affection as the two made their way to their room down the hall.

"I remember when we were their age; don't you Martha?" the elderly man smiled.

"Oh, Herbert," said his wife, rolling her eyes playfully as they climbed aboard the elevator, the last they saw of the young couple being the man grabbing a room key from his pocket, trying to get it in the lock without his mouth ever leaving the girl's which he was so obviously smitten with.

"If I remember correct," said the elderly man. "Eugene was conceived in this hotel."

"Oh Herbert," the wife said again as the elevator doors closed, a secret smile on her face as her husband softly reached out for her hand.

* * *

"Off," Violet ordered around his mouth, pulling at the edges of his jacket with shaking hands.

Logan chuckled, doing as she commanded and pulling his jacket off before latching his mouth back onto hers, biting at her lower lip until she made a soft sound in the back of her throat, fumbling with his tie. They'd managed to make it into his room and get the door shut, but so far they hadn't moved from it, her back against the surface as she stubbornly tried to undress him, murmuring a curse when his tie wouldn't unfasten the way that she wanted it to.

"Calm down, love," Logan murmured, grabbing at her wrists and pinning her arms to her sides. "We have all night."

"Oh Gods," Violet said then, the haze in her eyes quickly turning to panic. "The gala, we left early, and Wyatt was stuck with John, and Evangeline was… And Michael–" She paused at the hard set of Logan's jaw then, swallowing nervously as she looked up at him.

"Michael?" he asked, knowing full well who she was talking about, but wanting to hear her say it herself. "Who's _Michael_?"

"Logan, it was just a dance and it isn't like– I wasn't going to–_ oh_." Her head thumped back against the door as he kissed her neck again; sinking his teeth into the same place he had earlier. There was still a bit of blood left there, sweet and strong and Gods if this was the way her blood tasted then he couldn't even imagine the way _she_ tasted. "L-Logan," she whined, writhing against him. Where he'd intended the bite more for punishment she'd taken it for pleasure; it spiked his blood even more and made him grind into her, hips harsh on her own, erection throbbing from how badly he ached to be inside of her.

"Who do you belong to, Violet?" he whispered again her ear, the most possessive he'd ever been in his life. He didn't know what it was about her that brought out this primal instinct in him to claim, but he didn't much care either. All he knew was that he wanted her, and she wanted him if it wasn't already obvious by the way she was rubbing her hips in needy thrusts against his own.

But she shook her head in answer to him, biting her bottom lip, always the stubborn one. He still had a hold of her wrists, using them as base to slide his hands up her arms, all the way to her elbows before he grabbed tight and pulled her away from the door, farther into room. In one fluid movement he turned her and pushed her back onto the bed, keeping her gaze as he loosened his tie, not missing the way she bit her lower lip, trying to look away.

With his tie undone, he moved to the buttons of his shirt next, undoing them one at a time as Violet remained on the bed, half laying, half sitting as she propped herself up on her elbows and still refused to look at him. He toed off his shoes next, his socks. And then he moved to the belt of his pants, unbuckling it. At the sound, Violet's head snapped up. Her eyes were wide and frightened and full of longing, lip gone white from being worried between her teeth.

"Do you want me to stop, Violet?" he asked, hands paused in their task of undressing himself. For a moment she said nothing, staring at the floor and pressing her legs together beneath her dress. Then, with a blush, she shook her head. "Tell me what you want, Violet."

"I don't want you to stop," she said softly. "But I…"

"You what?" he asked with a raise of his brow. "Speak up, Violet. Look at me when you talk."

"I want you–" she glanced up from beneath her lashes– "to get this fucking dress _off_ of me."

At that he couldn't help but laugh, watching the small smile curl at the corners of Violet's mouth. He left his belt and pants alone for the moment, coming to rest at the foot of the bed, motioning for her to sit up. She did as told– for once– and turned slightly. There was a series of clasps on the back of the dress that had to be unhooked in order for it to be taken off.

"Turn over," Logan said then.

"What?" she asked, breath coming in harsh pants as he set his hands on her skin.

"_Turn. Over_. Lay on your stomach, arch your lower back." Again, she did as told. Albeit, slowly and with questioning eyes, but she did as told. Who'd have known such a stubborn little thing like her could be so submissive in the bedroom? He could get used to this.

With a smirk, Logan laid a soft kiss to the already exposed skin of her back. She shivered, tasted like fire and cut grass as he undid the first button of the dress and pressed another kiss to her flesh. With each button he repeated the motion, mouth lingering longer the lower he got. By the time he'd reached the small of her back, he let his tongue dip into the slight dimples there, collecting salty drops of sweat and smirking at the way Violet gasped from the contact, burrowing her face into the bedspread to hide the sound.

"Lift up onto your hands and knees," he said lowly, letting out a short breath when she did as told with a shudder.

Slowly, he grabbed at the top of the dress, dragging it down her torso to her hips, the lace of her underwear peeking out. Gray– his fucking favorite, of course. Without thinking about it, he pulled the dress down a little farther and moved to graze his teeth over where the line of her underwear stopped on the swell of her ass; chuckled at Violet's little squeak of surprise from the action. But the chuckle quickly turned into a dark growl as he realized he could smell her now, deep and heady and somehow still sweet.

It took all his will to pull the dress off of her the rest of the way now and not just wedge himself in between her thighs. Instead he let the dress pool around her knees, taking inventory of the raised scars marring the insides of her thighs. "Violet," he whispers softly, trying his best to kiss each mark feather-light, running his fingers over the scars on her hips.

"Oh," she sighed with a content shiver.

After he'd made sure his softer affections were known, he moved back to her dress then, lifting each leg out of it the rest of the way before finally she was left in nothing but her shoes, underwear and jewelry. The shoes were the easy part next, just a flick and the little ballet flats– of course she'd forgo the heels– fell to the floor with a _clack_.

"Sit." He ordered her then, hovering at the edge of the bed as she complied, twisting so she could quickly clamp her legs shut, cover her breasts with her arm. There were scars below her breasts, all over her stomach and the top of her thigh. Some of the cover-up had worn off on her arms, too. "Drop your arm, Violet. You don't have to hide from me."

She bit her bottom lip again, looking timid and shy and it took him a moment to remember just how new to all of this the girl really was; not just being seeing her scars but seeing her at all. She'd never even been properly kissed before him, and now here she was half-naked and willing to let him fuck her when she obviously wasn't ready for that kind of thing yet.

Sighing, Logan got onto the bed with her then, tipping her chin up so she'd look at him. "We're not going to go all the way with this, Violet," he said, noticing the sudden look of relief in her eyes. "We won't do anything you're uncomfortable with, okay love?" She blinked at the term of endearment, before nodding her head softly. "Do you want to stop?" he reached up to her hair then, taking the few remaining pins out of it so the curls fell in rings down her back, trailing his fingers through the soft strands.

"No," she said softly, adjusting so her hair covered her chest and she wouldn't have to use her arm to conceal herself anymore. Instead she used both hands to pick at the seams of the comforter. "I just…what _can_ we do?" She looked so innocent then; not young really– Violet had a way about her that was more than wise for her age even when she had he childish moments; it'd been the only reason he'd been able to fall for someone eleven years his junior– but just innocent and trusting and curious.

"_I_ want to eat you out," he said without hesitance, smug at the startled look in her eyes. "Would you be ready for that?"

"I just want you to _touch_ me," she said honestly, heat creeping into her cheeks.

"Where?" he asked, growing a bit irritated when she shook her head and wouldn't answer him. "_Where_ do you want me to touch you, Violet?"

"Everywhere," she mumbled, and then glanced up at him. "And I want to touch _you_."

He groaned at that, letting his head fall into her shoulder. Her hair smelled like orchids and coconuts and its was relaxing, but not enough to make his dick stop throbbing from the way she'd said those words, so obvious with how she intended to touch him behind their tone.

"Okay," he said after a moment, nodding at her when she looked to him for confirmation. "Lay down."

She blinked, seemed wool-thick before she understood and laid back. The jewelry his brother had given her to wear clinked against her skin noisily. Without further thought, Logan leaned forward and unhooked both pieces, tossing them on the floor. Violet rewarded him with a soft kiss, reaching up to touch him but not before he grabbed both of her wrists in his own, knowing this wasn't going to work if she tried to touch him while he was touching her; at this point it'd be over sooner than it had started, he was so aching just from kissing her and smelling her and listening to her admit she wanted him.

"What…?" she whispered against his mouth, too stunned to speak as he unhooked his belt the rest of the way, weaving it around her wrists before she had the chance to realize what he was doing. "Logan? _Logan_."

"Shh, Violet," he said, fastening his belt to the headboard tightly. She tried to pull her arms down but it wouldn't move. "Just trust me."

She snorted at that, giving him a roll of her eyes and probably about ready to insult him. Any words turned into a startled moan though, the moment he pressed his hand up between her thighs, cupping her fully. She was hot and wet, even through her underwear. He groaned, leaning down to kiss her as he rocked his palm forward, no need for foreplay because she was already more than ready for him.

"_Logan_," she gasped, no longer embarrassed as she bared her breasts fully when arching off the bed. He took the ample opportunity to kiss them then, flicking his tongue out around one of her nipples and smirking when she gave a soft whine from the action, tugging against her restraints. "Logan, _please_."

"Who do you belong to, Violet?" he asked smugly, tracing lazy circles up and down the line of her underwear, laying kisses at the scars on her torso, little butterfly touches of his lips. "Just answer the question and I'll give you want you want, love."

She shook her head. "This is so _stupid_."

"Hmm," he hummed, letting his hand slide into the top of her underwear and stilling it there. "Is it now?"

She gasped, throwing her head back against the bed as there was obviously nowhere else for her to go and nothing else for her to do. "Yours," she said after a long moment, the sound muffled by her apparent irritation and mouth pressed to the inside of her upraised arm.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I can't quite hear you, love," he said, sucking on a particularly gruesome scar near her navel and earning a startled whine.

"_Yours_," she said. "I'm yours. Now please–_please_."

"There, now was that so hard?" he chuckled arrogantly, grabbing the edge of her underwear and pulling them down to tangle at her knees. The smell of her was still oh-so intoxicating; he licked his lips, kissing a small trail from her chest, south. He stopped at her hipbone, the skin paper-thin there and marred with red slits, one seeming only a week or two old.

He let himself touch her then, fingers sliding against her wet, hot and easy as he sank his teeth into her hip, tongue lapping at the immediately flow of blood. Violet let out a sharp sound, mewling when he slipped one finger inside of her slowly, in-out, in-out as she adjusted to him, hips lifting off the bed eventually while she panted, struggling at the want to use her hands.

"Logan," she moaned. "Oh _fuck_."

"That's it, Violet," he said softly, adding another finger into her. She cried out then, making him still as she winced, stretching around him. "It's okay, love. You're so good– so wet and hot and good…that's it." She bore down against his hand again, making small, helpless sounds as he let his thumb move to circle her clit. It was the hottest thing he'd ever heard in his life and he had to stop himself from grinding into the bed and coming in his shorts right there.

She was practically wanton, now that she was no longer embarrassed to have him see her bare and vulnerable, have him _inside_ of her. Her crooked his finger softly, rubbing slow and firm circles as she thrashed under his touch, body moving away and then back again like she didn't know whether she wanted him to stop or keep going. He murmured encouragements to her the whole way, telling her how beautiful she was and how wet and how much he wanted her and, "Come on, Violet. Come for me. Come for me, love." It wasn't until he tucked his head into her chest, wrapped his mouth around her nipple and _sucked_ that she finally fell to pieces for him, a half-silent cry on her lips followed by the murmur of his name.

He smiled smugly, letting her ride out the waves of pleasure before taking his fingers out of her, bringing them to his mouth and licking at them nonchalantly, humming appreciatively at the earthy taste of her, the crisp tang that sings right along with it. Violet watched him with wild and tired eyes, chest rising and falling like a humming bird's before he reached up and unfastened the belt, her wrists. There were welts on the soft skin there, a split cut on the left. He went to rub at them but she was already moving, mouth on his in some kind of overly eager kiss that made his head spin. He moaned as her tiny hand reached out, pressed down against his erection through his pants.

He made a soft sound of approval as she tugged his zipper down, got her hand into his underwear with a bit of work and grinned at the hitch in his breath when she wrapped her curious little fingers around his cock. It jerked and leaked in her hand, but Violet just tilted her head curiously before looking up at him with bashful eyes, cheeks turning red.

"I haven't done this before– how do you…?" she started.

"You don't have to Violet."

"I_ want_ to."

"Well, then, you just…" He wrapped a hand around her wrist to guide her then, the skin hot and swollen under his touch. She started in small strokes, grip a bit too lose and too dry. He pulled her hand out after a second, but before she could protest, held it towards her mouth. "I–um, it doesn't really work dry…"

Violet blinked, dawning in her eyes before she looked down and then back up. "What if I…" she reached towards the mess between her legs, half-paused and blushing. "Would that…?"

Logan was the one to blink this time. "Yeah," he said after a long moment. "_God yes_." He let out a shallow breath as she ran her hand between her thighs shyly, giving a little mewl as she was still probably sensitive after having come such a short time ago. The thought made him lick his lips, groan when she wrapped her hand back around his dick, tighter and wetter this time in little strokes.

It was obvious that she didn't really know what she was doing, but he didn't care, his mouth open and wet against her neck as he mumbled her name and small encouragements. She seemed to find a rhythm quickly after that, moving faster and harder just the way he needed it. It was over in no time at all after that, Logan coming hot and wet inside of his boxers against her hand, groaning into her skin and saying her name over and over and over. She let him ride out the aftershocks with little twists of her hand, before pulling it out and staring at the wetness on it, brow creased.

"Well," she finally said. "That was messy."

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her soundly on the mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair to hold her to him, licking the last taste of pomegranate off her lips. "Stay in my bed tonight," he said before he could stop himself. At this point, he didn't want to stop himself anyways.

"Okay," she said, only slight hesitation. "But I'm showering in my _own_ room first."

"Deal," he said, pulling her down to lay on the bed with him. "In a couple minutes."

"Logan, I'm _sticky_," she protested.

"I could lick you clean, if you'd like," he said, waggling his brows suggestively.

She smacked his chest, body turning scarlet. "All this because you were jealous of some idiot who asked me to dance. Like anything would've happened anyways, you big block head."

"Block head, one of your more creative litanies."

"Shut up," she sighed, rolling over into his side, his arm automatically curling around her shoulders. The room was silent for a while then; he wondered whether or not she'd fallen asleep when she asked, "Are you…are you sure you like me for me, and not just for who I used to be?"

"I'm sure, Violet," he whispered. "There could be a hundred Persephone's, and I'd still only want you. We aren't those people anymore. We were once, but not now. And I want you in _this_ life, not that one."

"I want you too," Violet said so softly he could barely hear her. "I just wish we'd met under better circumstances."

Guilt spiked his blood at that and he stared up at the ceiling blankly in hopes of it somehow being able to shake the feeling off. No matter how much affection she showed him, it would still never change the fact Logan had taken Violet against her will, or that he was using her for his own selfish benefit. She'd probably never forgive him for that, and he didn't know if he could forgive himself either.


	30. The Goddess of the Harvest

**A/N**: Warning, still some M-ness in the beginning of the chapter. Tell me what you guys think? :)

* * *

Logan didn't end up letting her take a shower after all.

She blushed and shoved him off but he persisted they have a bath, _together_. Her mind was racing with all the thoughts of what they'd just done, how her bones still felt like Jell-O and the flesh between her thighs stung in a pleasant sort of ache. He left her on the bed to stare at the ceiling and blush while he went to draw a bath, her mind filling in blanks and coming to the conclusion of _oh my god I'm nearly twenty-one years old and I've just had my first sexual experience_.

The single plant in the room– orchids in a vase by the window– bloomed vivaciously, overgrown in their vase, their scent everywhere from evidence of what had just happened.

Before she could help herself, Violet began to laugh. Buried her face in the pillows to stifle the sound; they smelled like sweat and blood and sex. The place where he'd bitten her shoulder was thrumming in pain and, admittedly, she loved it. This shouldn't have come with much surprise though; she found relief in pain so why not pleasure too? What truly shocked her was that she'd so easily listened to his instructions; usually Violet _hated_ taking orders but the way his eyes had burned when he'd looked at her and told her what to do, just so he could touch her in the most beautiful of ways– she still shuddered at the memory.

And Gods, the sounds he had made when she'd been allowed to touch him back. She'd felt so…_powerful_. She'd been the one to break him; make him groan her name and grip her so tight there were already bruises in her skin.

She rubbed at the forming welts on her wrists then, where his belt had kept her in place. Violet had pleasured herself before, naturally. It was a human curiosity. But all of those times it'd been in faceless, vacant thoughts. Never had she thought she'd like things so rough, so out of her control when in every other aspect of life control was what she craved. She'd always imagined she'd hide herself away during sex; flush demurely and just lie there and not make a sound.

But with Logan, _Gods_ she'd been so wanton it was embarrassing to remember. She'd nearly screamed she'd come so hard under his touch, biting her tongue until she drew blood. And she'd said his name, over and over and over when she'd gotten him to come, too, like she couldn't believe any of this was happening and had to assure herself of it.

More than anything though, she couldn't stop thinking about his words in the elevator. Those had been what had started all of this in the first place, hadn't they. For weeks she'd thought he'd wanted her for what she was, but no, he wanted her for what she _is_. He wanted _her_. Logan had practically admitted to be falling in love with her, something almost too much to handle. _I've been in love before but this is more_, he'd grumbled when all was said and finished, his arms still around her as they both came down from the high of it. _You're so much more to me than a body, Violet. Your body I can have, but it's your soul I crave; I just want you._

Her fingers flexed on the sheets then, heat on her skin. Because Gods how she just wanted him too. She'd liked him from the start, if she were honest with herself. Violet had never really _liked _someone before; she didn't know how these things went but these feelings in her chest were different than anything she'd known. She liked Logan, she liked him a lot. And while she still couldn't bring herself to forgive him for what he'd done, what he'd taken from her, she couldn't stay away from him.

She craved him like a flower craved the sun.

And as he'd said, this was more than Hades and Persephone. Their souls had known each other once; maybe that's why it was so _easy_ to let herself be with him despite everything he'd done. Maybe that's why it felt so _right_ to want him, so natural. But it was Logan she liked; she remembered Hades and some part of her soul– that small part where Persephone was still at rest– loved that man, but Logan was different. He wasn't Hades, he was something new.

The best she could describe it to herself was that once, they'd been akin to childhood lovers; torn apart by time and now that they'd found each other again and had grown, learned new things, become new things, experienced life, they were falling for one another all over again.

And it was beautiful.

"Bath's ready," said Logan from the bathroom doorway, startling Violet from her reprieves. She blushed to see he had taken off his pants by now, just dark boxers to obstruct her view. "Come on, love," he chuckled. "You were touching me less than fifteen minutes ago; it shouldn't embarrass you to look."

"It's not that," she mumbled, feeling strange about the way he affected her so.

Thaddeus had once described Logan as '_eh, moderately good-lookin' enough_' but Violet couldn't help by think him very handsome. She'd never really care about that part though; looks were less than needed when it came to a person's heart. Though, if she had to admit, Violet did like the look of Logan too, for his soul radiated through his skin prominently.

He had this sort of primordial air about him, like his beauty didn't fit the day and age. He was a tall man, strong where it mattered and entirely too pale for someone who seemed to love the sun as much as she'd noticed he did, always slipping outside to soak the heat up. He wasn't slim exactly, rather he was wiry-muscled and broad in the shoulders, strong legs and dark hair on his chest with the shadow of it shadow forming on his jaw. But really it was the darkness about him that drew her in; how he held himself as if ancient to this world, wise and stoic and just. Plus she really, really enjoyed his eyes– the dark depths that conveyed the emotions his face often refused to.

"I'm just embarrassed of myself, really," Violet said at last. And not just because of her blatant want to ogle him, but of her own appearance. "I know I'm not pretty…"

He was so silent in his movements she didn't even know he'd come to her until she felt the bed dip at her side, a harsh set of fingers plucked under her chin. "Don't you dare say that again," Logan murmured, leaning in for a searing kiss that left her head reeling. "Violet, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon."

"But I'm so…" She searched for the right word in her head. "_Broken_." Logan's brow drew together at the answer, like he didn't understand. She sighed, further ready to explain herself. "I'm absolutely covered in scars, Logan. I've got freckles everywhere, and my figure's essentially…_lacking_."

For a moment, Logan was silent. And then he shook his head quite vigorously. "Your scars are a part of you, Violet," he said, taking her arm and kissing each one there. "I don't like how they got there, but I accept them all the same. And as for your freckles, I adore them." He swiped his fingers over the speckling of them on her shoulders. "They're quite cute." He grinned impishly. "And your body…" He let his hand drop to trace over her breast then, making her shiver as he outlined the peak with the tip of his finger. "It is too thin, I will admit that. But only because you keep it as such. I can see the way it wants to blossom Violet, and when you let it," He leaned down then, scraping his teeth against her jaw to murmur in her ear, "it will be the most beautiful flower any creature has seen. You're a woman, Violet; not a child. Let yourself grow."

"But my hair –" she started, because surely there must be _something_ he couldn't like about her.

"Is lovely," Logan finished, rolling his eyes. "And so are your eyes, your face, everything. Even if you looked like a goose, I'd still think you were beautiful, Violet. It's your soul I crave."

"So the body you can bear," she murmured. She wasn't trying to be difficult; really, she _wasn't_. It was just that Violet had waged war on her body for so long, she didn't understand how Logan could like it. Much less her _soul_; she hated that more than she hated her skin, which was quite a bit, mind you.

"No, the body I can _devour_," Logan said, grasping his hands at her hips and pulling her forwards on the bed as he sank to his knees before her, pressing small nips to the soft roundness of her belly.

"But why want either?" Violet gasped, trying to keep her voice level even as his mouth went farther and farther south, her flesh quivering anew. "I'm all…_wrong_, Logan. I don't fit together right. I'm Persephone, but I'm not. Once I thought I was Violet, but even that doesn't fit right; never did. I'm all mixed up inside my head." He stopped trying to distract her then, staring up at her and listening to every word she had to say in sober attention. "One moment I'm telling myself I need to go home, and then the next I want to stay. But that's so selfish of me, either decision I make. One way I let Danny down, the other I let everyone else down. I just feel selfish and _wrong_ all the time.

"I mean, after Dad died I tried my hardest to help Mom, help Danny. But look how that worked? She went mad, and now he's all alone and he wonders why our parents every day. And why _I_'ve left. And now I've just given up and aren't even fighting to get home to him anymore. How can you want me, Logan? I'm absolutely awful and tarnished, like used silver or something. I'm not someone you can love, and– oh, no, I mean, I don't _expect_ you to love me it's just, I just, I am, oh, just–"

He silenced her then with a kiss so stabbing, so earnest and real that she whimpered; tears on her cheeks she hadn't realized were there before fell anew. "Violet," he murmured against her mouth, tugging her close to him. "My silly, silly girl. Don't you see how very _human_ all of that makes you? It isn't wrong; you're not wrong. You're human. You're the most human any of us have ever been."

"But I'm supposed to be a Goddess," she sighed, hands fisted in his hair. She loosened them, not wanting to hurt him by pulling at it so much anymore now that their mouths were apart. "I'm supposed to be stronger than this and not so goddamn _weak_."

"Violet, you're the strongest person I've ever met," Logan said, and it looked like he really meant it, too. "You fought me the entire way until you realized who you are; you were trying to get back to Danny when you could've just given up, but you didn't. You would do anything for your brother. Right now, the only reason you're not still fighting to get back to him is to protect him from all of this madness. You agreed to fight when you didn't have to."

"Well I'm not just going to let the world die," Violet said after a moment of allowing his words sink in, her eyes growing determined. She'd told him, not long after she'd found out who she'd once been, she wouldn't just sit demurely while all of this happened, while the Titans and the other Gods just killed everything. That if it really came down to it, she'd fight back. "I was a human for so long, I won't let the rest of them die. That isn't fair."

Logan snorted, pushing hair out of her face and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "And _that_ is why I want you, Violet. That right there; because you're _you_. Now stop arguing with me, the bath is getting cold."

He stood, reaching a hand out to her then. She bit her lip, took his hand and tried to stand but her knees buckled. Luckily, he caught her before she could hit the ground. And though she protested, lifted her up into his arms and carried her bridal style to set her in the bathtub. The warm water felt like heaven on her limp limbs, but it also stung a bit.

"Um…Logan?" she asked after a moment, flushing as he removed his boxers; touching had been prominently different than seeing and the rush of arousal she felt was overwhelming, especially considering the fact he was nearly hard again. Could just touching her really do that to him? _Oh_.

"Yes, love?" he asked, as if the face _both_ of them were fully naked was nothing. To him, it probably was. _He's done this kind of think before, dumbass,_ Violet admonished herself with a hiccup, trying to remember her earlier question.

"What am I supposed to do about this?" she finally asked, motioning to the bite-mark on her shoulder as he climbed in behind her; his arousal seemed to have increased at her mention of the mark he'd left in her skin, and his arms went about her waist as he lent his mouth down to lave at the mark with his tongue.

"Leave it," he growled. "I want everyone to see you belong to me."

"I'm not a poss–" she was cut off by her own startled cry and he yanked her head back by her hair, crushing his mouth to hers in a demanding sort of kiss. She broke away only for air, barely able to breathe with his grip now round her neck while his lips moved to her neck, biting and sucking and driving her mad.

Without thinking, she moaned softly, squirming around in his lap. The hand still on her hip moved down, down, drawing soft circles in her thigh before he pressed the bottom of his palm to sensitive flesh, harsh thrusts in time to the soft flutter of the his fingertips. It was enough to make her breath speed up and the ache she'd felt just seconds before to become unbearable. She shoved his hand away then, resting her head back against his shoulder and shaking it vigorously.

"I can't," she whispered, voice cracking.

He chuckled mercilessly, using his now free hand to palm her breast instead, sucking at her neck and leaving dark bruises there with his mouth where his fingers hadn't already reached. "You _can_," he promised, grinding his arousal into her backside so she gasped. "I'll make sure of it, Violet."

"No, I'm too…" she shook her head, blushing when she admitted, "I've never been able to make myself come twice before. It's too much."

At her soft admission, Logan gave deep growl, doing his best to look her in the eye despite their seated position and him being so much taller she really had to bend her head back to look. "You've touched yourself before?"

Biting her lip, Violet gave a soft nod. "Yes."

His fingers flexed against her, hot water sloshing around them as he moved his mouth down to capture hers again, tongue insistent along her own until she felt she couldn't breathe, the hand around her neck tightening until she writhed helplessly, his touch moving back to where she needed it most. "How much?" he asked once they broke apart, lips shiny from their kisses.

"What–I–" She couldn't tell him _that_.

"Show me," he insisted, more like _demanded_ with how dark his eyes were on her own. She shook her head. With the hand not around her neck, he grabbed one of her own and moved it to where his had once been. She gave a small whine at the contact. "_Show me,_ Violet."

"Logan, I _can't_, it's not…" She trailed off, heat all down her spine now and the ache between her thighs thrumming in time to her pulse.

Thankfully, she was saved by a loud _bang_ing on Logan's hotel room door. She thanked a God she kind-of-sort-of believed in for that, even risking a small laugh at Logan's frustrated groan, his frantic kiss as he got out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist and shifting uncomfortably at the way it hung against his very obvious erection.

"This is your fault," he chastised her, but Violet simply snickered as he moved to answer the door, collapsing back in the water with thanks of mercy.

One click of the hotel room's lock, a creak of the hinges, and then there were murmurs of disapproval. Violet's brows knit together as she tried to let the water soothe her tight-knit muscles, flicking her feet to make small waves. For a second she wished she could have control over water instead of plants; that would have been much cooler. Soaking Thaddeus in a title wave when he mocked her instead of flicking him with willow vines would have been much more satisfying. She'd tried to do the whole badass-wrap-him-up-in-vines thing like she'd done in the forest that day against those Tartarus monsters, but apparently such abilities came about only when she was under extreme duress, and not on a frivolous whim.

_Which sucks,_ she thought absentmindedly, making a small wave with her hand. "Whah," she mumbled, then sighed because yes, would've been _much_ cooler to manipulate water.

By now it'd been a minute or two since Logan had left though, and she began to wonder who was at the door. Was it Evangeline or Thaddeus or Chad, wondering where they'd run off to? They'd been gone a good forty-five minutes, after all, and hadn't exactly left the gala under pleasant terms. Maybe it was Wyatt, who'd escaped John's clutches and was coming to Logan for sanction since he'd found out his uncle was no longer at the party to provide it.

The last thought made Violet panic. She would not, _could_ not let Wyatt see her like this. She couldn't let him find out what had happened between her and Logan like, _ever_, she realized in a moment of clarity. Violet wasn't stupid, after all. She could be oblivious to some things, but she'd gotten straight A's all her life and had always been moderately decent when it came to reading body language. She knew Wyatt's feelings transcended that of more than a friend's. And maybe she'd led him on for a while in the beginning, but she'd never meant to. Lately she'd been trying to make it clearer that all she felt in return for him was the love of a sibling. But Wyatt hadn't seemed to be getting it, and finding out this way that Violet's affections leant towards another– especially his _uncle_– would be the ultimate slap in the face. And she couldn't do that to poor, sweet, loving Wyatt.

Almost as if in a race, she sat up in the tub fully intending to somehow make it to her own room or something without being seen, but then there was yelling from whomever Logan was talking to at the door. And the voice belonged to a female, certainly not Wyatt.

"I don't give a damn what you say, _Dark One_. I _will_ see my daughter!"

The door slammed against the wall then, and before Violet could even grab a towel to cover herself there was a new presence in the bathroom, Logan standing still in nothing but a towel, fuming, behind the woman. Violet's eyes widened, taking in the woman's willowy frame and round hips, her gold skin and wheat hair. It was obvious she was a bit older, with lines in a once smooth face that had been muddled by age and stress. The woman's eyes, which before must have been as glossy as honey, looked dull and even half-maddened. She stared at Violet with a fond, loving smile on her lips.

"Persephone," she breathed, voice like wind through a field of hay.

Violet instantly recognized the woman; she didn't need Logan's pictures or words or names that he'd rehearsed her on. It was something deep inside Violet that knew this woman. Rather it was _Persephone_ that knew this woman. Before her stood Demeter, one of the six original Olympians, Goddess of the harvest and– "Mother," Violet said, her voice so small she thought her throat had broken.

"Oh, Persephone," said Demeter, and Violet quickly tried to correct herself in thinking _Fawn_. This woman's name was Fawn Summers now; Goddess no more.

And it was then the exact situation they were in seemed to dawn on the Fawn, for her expression of joy quickly turned to one of obvious disgust. Because here Violet was, bone-limp in a bathtub, littered in scars new and old. There was a possessive bite-mark on her shoulder and hip, and her hair was thoroughly mussed like she'd been fucked out of her mind, not far from the truth. There were prints of Logan's touch all over her body, and Logan was in nothing but a towel, no less (_At least the erection's gone,_ she thought listlessly). It probably didn't help that Violet had left scratches down his back where she'd grabbed at him helplessly during their rushed kisses and fevered touches.

Oh yeah, and they'd departed the gala after Logan had had a jealous little hissy fit about her dancing with another man, making them look like a proclaimed couple, which she wasn't even sure if they were or not by this point. Were they…?

"Well I guess I should've known you'd defile her _again_, Hades," Fawn said, turning to glare at Logan.

_Hey!_ Violet wanted to shout. Yes, she and Logan had just been intimate with one another, but first of all it's not like he'd actually put his dick in her, so the 'defiling' Fawn was referring to had not in fact _happened_. And second, Violet had been a willing participant of said intimacy. It wasn't as if Logan had forced her. She'd said yes, over and over if she recalled correctly. And very emphatically to boot.

"His name isn't Hades," Violet found herself saying instead, one arm across her chest and the other in the water between her legs.

_For Gods' sake, how many people were going to see her naked today?_

"Excuse me?" asked Fawn, as if she were in awe Violet had talked back to her.

Taking a deep breath, Violet repeated herself. "His name _isn't_ Hades. It's Logan. And my name is Violet, not Persephone. And he didn't defile me."

"Oh, Persephone," Fawn said, sudden sadness on her aged face. "He's done it again, hasn't he? He's brainwashed my poor baby!"

Without warning, Fawn dropped to her knees and threw her arms around Violet's bare form. The evening gown the woman wore instantly soaked through, the crisp emerald silk cold against Violet's flesh. She tried to shy away as much as possible, hitting the shower wall and wincing as the emeralds of Fawn's necklace dug into her shoulder.

"My innocent little girl," crooned Fawn. "You must be so confused to have your memories back, and now _he_'s lied to you."

"Lied to her?" Logan sneered, holding tight to the towel around his waist, as if he didn't tear at that he'd start tearing at Fawn herself. "I haven't lied to her since she remembered who she is! Now, for Violet's sake, I am going to ask you politely to please get the _fuck_ out of my room, Fawn. Violet and I were kind of in the middle of something, if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh _no_," said Fawn then, turning to reel on Logan. Violet could see the anger of the earth in the woman, her own fingers flexing against the bare skin of her thighs. The lone plant in the bathroom– the one tucked in the sink's vanity corner– began to rapidly grow over the edges of its vase, vines of fresh green leaves moving to bow to the floor under the women's power. "There shall be _no_ such thing! You raped my daughter once, you vicious monster. But never again!"

"I didn't _rape_ her," Logan said, his teeth grit together. Just as quickly as the plant had begun to grow, it started to wither. "Maybe in the old days I did, but only when rape meant _taking_. I never touched your '_daughter_' without her permission. She _chose_ to be my wife then, Fawn. And she's choosing to be with me now."

Violet cringed as Fawn gave an angry shout, the plant surging so much it broke out of its vase all together. Shards of porcelain littered the bathroom floor, and Violet quickly used the distraction to climb out of the tub, ignoring the ache in her limbs as she tucked a towel around herself, then hesitantly put and hand on Logan's chest and Fawn's shoulder, getting in the middle of them.

"This isn't really the time for an argument," she said after a moment, doe eyes pleading. "Fawn, if you wish to talk to me we can do it in private, alright? But not here; not now. In my room- in a couple of minutes. Please wait in the hall for me?"

Fawn seemed unconvinced by the argument, but one insistent pout of the lips from Violet and the woman sighed. She gave another murderous glare at Logan before telling Violet she would wait by her room's door for her and leaving, the door to Logan's own room slamming shut. The moment the sound stopped shaking the floor, Violet turned back to Logan. Her hand was still upon his chest, and he seemed to be silently fuming.

"Hey," Violet said, stepping up to him and grabbing his face, making him look at her. "She's owed some kind of explanation, right? You've had me for a month, and didn't tell her."

"I don't like her thinking she can go and take what's _mine_," Logan said, hands grabbing at Violet's waist to pull her closer. "I can't lose you Violet, I _won't_. Especially not because of that demented woman thinking now's the perfect chance for mommy and daughter bonding time."

"She is not my mother," Violet was quick to say. "She was once, but I have a mom in this lifetime that loves me. At least she did, once…"

"She still does," Logan insisted. "Her mind's just not…_there_."

"You can just say she's crazy, Logan. It's nothing I haven't heard before," Violet chuckled. She'd been teased endlessly about it her last couple of years of high school. Even Albany was hesitant to go around her mother, once the woman had lost her mind. "But Demeter was a good mother, once. She was too controlling and stubborn, sure. But she loved Persephone and she deserves an explanation."

"She always was your weak spot," Logan said, a bitter tone to his words. "But if I lose you again because of her–"

"You won't," Violet cut him off, leaning up on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Logan sighed. "I finally have you all to myself and that drat woman ruins it; go fucking figure."

"You're such a baby," Violet giggled. The sound quickly turned to a gasp when he spun her, pressed her back into the wall and ground his apparently renewed arousal into her hip.

"I _want_ you," he said simply. "Forgive me for being a little impatient."

"You're insatiable," Violet murmured, but appeased him with a touch of lip and tongue all the same.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Violet was answering the door of her room in the pajamas Evangeline had told her to pack, and a towel around her half-damp hair. Fawn stood on the other side looking both excited and sour.

Violet let her in with a wave of the hand, offering the regal woman a chair at the table by the window which she sat in with a small '_thank you sweetheart_' as Violet took the one across from her. For a moment Violet didn't know what to say, instead looking out the window, past the city to Lake Michigan. It was a beautiful sight at night, streetlights illuminating the dark water in ripples and glow.

"Do you come here often?" Fawn asked her then, breaking the silence.

Violet shook her head, bit her lip as her usual shyness began to settle in. "I'm from Boston… I never went any farther than New York, and even then I only spent two weeks there, for Christmas vacation."

"And you're nearly twenty-one, if I recall…_Logan_ telling me earlier?" When Fawn said Logan's name, her face contorted, as if she were ready to puke or set something on fire. Or both.

The lily in in the window frame of the room withered. Violet set a sympathetic hand on it so the flower would grow anew.

"Yes," Violet said, watching the new bloom's petals unfurl. "September twelfth."

"And you have a brother?" Fawn asked curiously.

"Yes," said Violet. "His name's Danny. He's about fifteen. He's…he's _amazing_."

"You miss him?" Fawn could read her like an open book, Violet realized. It probably wasn't hard, considering the woman had been her mother once, long ago.

Violet nodded. "Very much. Before I…_remembered_, all I wanted to do was go back to him. But I know I can't right now. Not until this _mess_ is figured out. I'm going to stay with Logan until then. It's best if Danny just thinks I'm gone; I don't want him involved." Her words were ones she'd been trying to convince herself to be true the last two weeks. They were also a silent plea to the woman before her; if Fawn knew about Danny then she could get to him and Violet was begging her not to.

"You could always stay with me," Fawn said without missing a beat, Violet's secret seeming like it didn't matter much to Fawn. In other words, Danny would be safe. "I stay in Austria during the fall. Originally I'm from Sweden, in this life. But I only like to stay there in the summers anymore. During winter I stay in the Caribbean– I think you'd like it there. And then, for spring, I go home. To Greece."

"That all sounds very nice," Violet said. Because really, it did. To live in such exciting places, one after another at the drop of a hat. "But my place is here." _Near Danny and Albany and Mom…with Wyatt and Chad and Evangeline and Thaddeus and Myrtle and Marea and __**Logan**__._

"Don't you tire of him?" Fawn asked, knowing Violet knew exactly which _him_ she was talking about. "How can you trust him, when he took you in such a manner?"

"I don't know," said Violet, because she didn't. "I just do."

"What if I were to tell you that he didn't take you just to keep you safe?" asked Fawn, setting Violet alert. She blinked, sitting farther on the edge of her seat, mind suddenly calculating.

Logan never had exactly explained why he'd taken her, other than to have her remember who she was and be able to tell her about the whole war situation. Often, she found herself wondering why he hadn't simply found a less…_dramatic_ way to do it. But most of the time, she'd just written that off as Logan being himself. He was a bit overactive.

"Because he's kind of an idiot," Violet shrugged, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. "Evang–_Hecate_," she corrected herself, trying not to snort at the idea of the name, "said it wasn't possible to make me remember using a spell; that kind of magic only works on children. On adults it makes them brain-dead. She thought it'd be better if I was near things that would remind me of my old life, namely Logan, considering Hades was Persephone's husband once, and he was Hades."

"Did you ever think maybe he just wanted your divinity?" Fawn asked, making Violet bristle.

"No."

"Think about it, sweetheart," said Fawn, shaking her head in sympathy. "You don't seriously expect a relationship out of the man, do you? His reputation precedes him. I've never once heard of him having a serious relationship, in any life. In the old times, all he did was control you. He told you what to do, when to do it. At least with me, I tried to keep watch of you to make sure you were _safe_. With him, it was just so you'd do what _he_ wanted you to do."

Violet blinked, Fawn's words settling into her like the thorn-prick of a rose. And then she shook her head, standing from the table. "Stop it," she said. The lily's blooms doubled in size. "You don't know him _at all_." Violet may not be an expert on Logan, but she definitely knew him better than Fawn. And she knew he cared about her; she could see it in the way he had looked at her tonight. Those words he'd said to her in the elevator, or when he'd kneeled before her at the edge of the bed… "Just_ stop_. This is none of your business. My _life_ is none of your business. I'm _not_ Persephone."

"But–" Fawn began to say, now standing too.

"No," Violet cut her off. The lily's roots curled up over the edge of the vase now, trying to dig into the window's frame. "I will give you answers about my life; I will let you get to know who I am; I will talk with you about how to fix all of the craziness that is happening between the Gods right now. But I will not, I repeat I will _not_ talk about mine and Logan's relationship. That isn't any of your business."

Both women were silent then, the lily settling, Fawn looking shocked that Violet had talked back to her so easily. In another life, Persephone had often bowed down to her mother. A life lived in shelter with only the embrace of her mother before Hades had called for such a demure, submissive nature. Persephone had been secretly rebellious of course, but the moment she'd been caught she'd begged for her mother's forgiveness, having been raised to please.

And while Violet had the inherent instinct to please, she hadn't been raised with it. Before her dad had died and her mother had gone crazy, they'd taught her to be herself. Take responsibility and be sensible and good, sure. But they'd never doted on her like she was some naïve child. She was allowed to go places on her own without being watched; do things on her own; be her own person.

Hell, she'd practically been a mother herself when it came to taking care of Danny since she was sixteen.

Some woman with fancy dresses and distant ties couldn't suddenly walk in proclaiming to know what was best for her. Even when Logan tried to tell Violet what to do, she pretty much blatantly refused him.

(Except, apparently in bed, but that didn't count.)

"Fine," Fawn simply sighed then, her honey eyes looking crestfallen. "It is getting late and you must certainly need your rest. I would, however, wish that you accompany me for breakfast tomorrow morning, so we may talk?"

_Breakfast?_ Violet had told Logan she'd wanted to go to Navy Pier in the morning before showing up for the meeting of all the Gods that were here, and she'd even promised Wyatt they'd hang out together there. But this may be her last chance to see Fawn for a while, and the woman's eyes were so very hopeful that Violet couldn't help but agree.

"_Only_ if I can bring Wyatt with me," Violet said. More than anything the boy had been excited to spend time with her tomorrow; all of the running around and getting ready to be able to go back to school the past week and a half had meant the two of them hadn't been able to spend much time together. And Violet missed him too; he was her best friend, after all. Besides, the extra body may lighten the conversation tomorrow.

"Of course," said Fawn with a smile. "But, ahem, Logan wouldn't…"

"Just Wyatt and I would be in attendance," Violet assured. She didn't know how she'd convince Logan to let her have more alone time with Fawn than what they were having now. She figured it'd involve lots of kisses; she was okay with that. "How about around eight tomorrow morning? We're supposed to meet with the others at noon, right?"

"Yes," said Fawn excitedly. "There's a café just off the lobby that we can go to. They have excellent lemon tea; how I so remember you loving it!"

Violet _did_ like lemon tea, but she wasn't about to start bonding over old times with Fawn because of that. "Okay, sounds good," Violet said.

She showed Fawn to the door then, relieved to be rid of the woman in a way. Nonetheless, her words ran around in the back of Violet's head: _with him, it was just so you'd do what __**he**__ wanted._ Because that had often been the case, when it came back down to her and Logan's relationship, hadn't it? She hadn't wanted any of this to begin with, but he had. He'd not even liked her at the start of this, just wanted her to _help_. But help how? She hadn't known what she could do then. She'd still had her divinity–that much was obvious the day it came to the forefront so brazenly– but she hadn't known it until that moment. And Logan had, and he'd told her that Gods are stronger together, that to stop the Titans they needed as much help as possible. That their divinity fed off of one another…

Violet shook her head. Even if that was the case in the beginning, things were different now, right? He'd said he wanted her; maybe at first he hadn't known it, but he did now. He'd said he _liked_ her and for her only, not Persephone. And that was where the divinity was, in Persephone. And Logan liked Violet, so there was something there, between them, wasn't there?

"Fuck," she groaned, throwing herself on the bed, suddenly very tired and overwhelmed.

But the moment she curled over intent on some alone time and sleep, Logan came bursting through the door that adjoined their rooms. She hadn't bothered to lock it when she'd come to her room to dress before talking to Fawn, and cursed herself for the action.

"What did she say?" Logan asked irately, coming over to sit on the bed next to Violet and pulling her into his lap before she could protest.

It seemed now that she'd given him open permission to touch her, he wasn't going to stop. They were going to have to talk about that.

"Nothing," Violet said smoothly, not wanting to start an argument over it. "We're having breakfast tomorrow."

"What?" Logan glared.

"Calm down," Violet murmured, brushing fingertips down the side of his face and willing for him to calm. "I'm bringing Wyatt along, so nothing too drastic will happen. It's just breakfast."

"It'd better be," Logan said. It was then he seemed to notice the way her eyes were dropping like her limbs. Sighing, he pulled back the covers and settled her beneath them. She hummed in content, too worn out to protest when he climbed in beside her. "I don't want her thinking she's going to take you away from me for another six months out of every year. Damned earth bitch."

"Watch it," Violet murmured, snuggling into his warm embrace as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand drifting under the hem of her t-shirt to settle on the plush skin of her tummy. "That's my mother you're talking about, sparky."

"Sparky?" he asked, nuzzling into her hair and kissing at her neck.

"Would you like to be called something else?" By this point she had her eyes closed, fully intent on sleep. "I could always start calling you lamb chop or pumpkin, or even snuggle-puss, if you want?"

"I don't really care," he mumbled, spooning her shamelessly. "Except for the moment you start calling me pookie, that's where I draw the line."

She rolled over in his embrace, blinking tired eyes at him. "Not fond of it, huh?"

"No," he said, a grimace of an expression. "Now less talk, more shut-eye, sleeping beauty. "

"Whatever you say, _pookie_," Violet snickered, ignoring his mock glare as he leaned in for messy slip of teeth and tongue and lips. "Just wake me up in the morning."

"Can't promise an'thing," he murmured as she shut her eyes. "May just keep ya all to myself…"

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, and that night, Violet dreamed of dark eyes, wilting wheat, broken words and bloody pomegranates.


	31. The Real Reasons

**A/N:** Hey everyone, I wanted to take a moment to ask that you all give me your real, honest opinions of how you think the story has been coming along so far. Any plot holes you have noticed, if things are moving too slow? I ask because I plan on editing the shit out of this fic before continuing the sequel to make things clearer for future reference, so any advice you have would be great! Thanks again for all the continued support; you rock.

* * *

"What the hell is butter rum?" Wyatt asked, turning the menu upside down as if that would make the muffin options make more sense. "I mean, am I allowed to get it since it's got alcohol in it?"

"Yes, Wyatt," Violet murmured, tapping her foot anxiously against the floor. They'd arrived to the hotel's café ten minutes earlier than when she'd agreed to meet with Fawn, and now it was t-minus-two in counting. Her nerves felt as if they'd been attached to a circuit board cranked to the max. "When they cook the batter, it makes the alcohol in the rum evaporate and leaves the taste."

"No kiddin'," Wyatt asked, giving an appreciative nod. "Think they'll let me spike my orange juice, too?"

"With how hung-over you are, no," Violet said, shaking her head at him. Apparently Wyatt and the others hadn't gotten back to their rooms well until sometime past one in the morning, all rip-roaring drunk except for Evangeline who handled her intoxication as a proper lady. John had kept hold of Wyatt all through Logan's little hissy-fit and dragging of Violet away; Wyatt had only realized she was gone when he made it back to the table after vigorously denying John's proposal of coming to stay with him and Helen for his senior year, so he could go to a prep school here in Chicago.

"It was so boring without you," Wyatt had said. But he'd also questioned her about the night before. A _lot_, considering the sudden agreement to meet Fawn and all.

Violet had woken in bed this morning to Logan draped around her and sweat gathering at the nape of her neck from the close proximity. He'd kissed her sleepily upon seeing she was awake, full intentions of a repeat of the night before when his cell phone had gone off in the other room. It'd been Wyatt, of course. Wondering if they were going to the Pier. Logan had handed Violet the phone with a sigh and she'd guiltily explained about how she'd agreed to meet with Fawn for breakst. Wyatt actually seemed fine with the whole idea, since he go to come.

So Violet had gotten dressed in some posh cocktail dress John had left for her in her closet– too revealing, too gray– a cardigan, and her usual flats to come down and meet Fawn for their late breakfast. Wyatt looked as hung-over as he'd claimed to feel, and she was half tempted to tell him to wear sunglasses indoors, the boy's eyes were so red-rimmed. What had once been an allowance of one mixed drink had quickly turned to ten; unlike Evangeline, John had no qualms of intoxicating minors. And Wyatt said he had definitely needed it after talking with John and all his "friends".

"Is he really in the mob?" Violet hadn't been able to contain the question as they'd boarded the elevator to come down to the lobby to meet Fawn.

"Says he's in contracting," Wyatt had mumbled, hitting the _ground_ button. "But I'm willin' to bet him and his buddies contract on top of some bodies, if ya know what I mean."

Violet hadn't asked many questions after that, so they just sat there at their window table staring longingly at Lake Michigan. Both had agreed last night that they'd really wanted to go to the Pier. Violet for the culture, Wyatt for the rides. He was a fan of amusement parks and rarely got to go; Violet felt awful from keeping him from the excitement and said if it meant that much to him she'd make Logan take him, but Wyatt had seemed just as adverse to the idea as Logan himself had. Violet didn't really get why; when she'd first come to the Fairgrave house Wyatt had said the two of them were close, but to her they seemed so very distant…

"So how come you left so early last night again?" Wyatt asked, taking Violet out of her reprieves with the question she had been dreading since she'd said _hello_ to him on the phone this morning.

"I felt kind of sick," Violet lied, hating that she was lying at all. She should just tell Wyatt; it wasn't like they were every going to get together or anything. She needed to stop leading him on.

But the way he looked at her so needy and soft…

"You said as much," Wyatt grinned. "But what really happened after?"

"Logan took me back to my room, so I could rest, since he was kind of done with the party himself anyways. And then like I said this morning, Fawn barged in, and dear Gods was she not happy. She started ranting about him 'violating her daughter' or whatever. I mean, I'm not even her kid, technically," Violet harrumphed.

"It's kind of like the abduction all over again," Wyatt smirked, taking a sip of one of the waters their waiter had placed before them when they'd sat down. "I mean, without the raping part."

"Yeah," Violet squeaked. Because, technically, that was completely true. Logan had kidnapped her, held her against her will, kept her from family, _and_ they'd been intimate. But there had been no rape or queening or marriage or whatever; just the best orgasm of her life. Not that Wyatt needed to know _that_. It still made _her_ embarrassed just to think about the whole thing.

Self-consciously, she tugged down the sleeves of her cardigan to cover the welts on her wrists from where Logan had tied her to the bed with his belt. _Damn him,_ she thought with a hollow ache between her thighs at the memory, making sure the love-bite he'd left on her collar was covered too; _damn him a lot._ His possessive mannerisms were extremely inconvenient, and she hated that it was something that had turned her on so easily. Maybe because it was a sort of possessiveness where he didn't treat her like he owned her, but rather he treated her like he _needed_ her and _wanted_ her so much he was determined to keep her for himself. Violet had always liked feeling needed, and now that she knew what being _wanted_ felt like, she liked that just as much, too.

"Darlings!"

Both Wyatt and Violet turned then, seeing Fawn swooping into the café in a haze of wheat hair and champagne chiffon. She looked younger today, Violet couldn't help but notice, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Ma'am," Wyatt said when Fawn was finally at the edge of the table, standing to pull out her chair for her. That was something Logan had taught him, Violet knew. The man was big on chivalry whenever he could manage it– _old habits die hard,_ he'd said one day while they were sitting in his office last week and she'd asked him about why he was always pulling out her chairs when they ate or holding doors open for her or carrying things when she let him– and was probably avid Wyatt be too.

"Thank you, young man," said Fawn, taking her seat and crossing her shapely legs at the ankles. She was a long, flowing woman like a weave of barely, but she was also plump too, like the fruits of harvest. She had very nurturing curves, and the kind of bosom made for birthing and nursing. _Mother Earth,_ Violet thought softly. And if this was how Demeter looked, she couldn't begin to imagine Gaia. "How are you…_Violet_?" Fawn asked, taking extra care to say her name right this time.

Violet had to give the woman props for trying.

"Well, thank you," said Violet. "Wyatt and I were just talking about how nice it was outside."

"We were?" asked Wyatt, heavy brows drawing together. Violet kicked him under the table and he winced. "Ow– _yeah_, we were. Have anything to do with that?"

"No dear," laughed Fawn, the sound of a summer breeze. "Sadly, that is no longer in my arsenal of power. Though I do believe the weather on earth _sometimes_ still correlates to my moods. After all, it is magnificent out as you say, and I am so dearly happy to have my Kore back."

Fawn reached out to touch Violet's hand, but she quickly retracted the appendage. _Kore_. How Persephone had so _hated_ that nickname. Her mother forever insisting on calling her '_girl_' when all she wanted in the world was to be a woman. Persephone had known from a young age she was not meant to settle in one place– how ironically right she'd been of that– and that she was meant to give herself completely to life, to flourish. Her mother had wanted to keep her a seedling when she was an ever climbing vine of pretty flowers and sharp thorns.

"Sorry," Violet said anyways when she saw Fawn's crestfallen expression at her blatant rejection. "I don't like being touched much."

Fawn's lips formed a hard line. "It didn't seem that way last night when you and Logan–"

Luckily she was interrupted by the waiter then, and Violet breathed a sigh of relief, trying to remember what she'd chosen to order minutes earlier. It was still odd to her that in such a short time she'd been able to start eating somewhat like a normal person. It was another thing she'd relinquished control over, she realized with a sour expression; felt like she had no control over anything anymore. But she ordered a scone and strawberries and cream all the same because it sounded good, not because the numbers were something she could bend in her head just so one thing was always matter-of-fact.

Wyatt smiled at her encouragingly– he'd caught on to her weird and self-harming habits pretty quick– and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze under the table; Violet tried not to let their touch linger for too long.

It was silent then until their respective orders came. Fawn stared at Violet, Violet stared at Fawn, Wyatt looked back and forth between them about to give himself whiplash. In truth, Violet didn't really know what to say. At least when her breakfast was set before her, there was something to focus on. She'd ordered tea too, a steaming cup of lemon just to make Fawn smile. The elder woman had ordered the same, while Wyatt had asked for orange juice to go along with the butter rum muffin he'd been so curious about. Violet felt an odd longing in the pit of her chest for the smell of the generic-blend coffee Logan usually drank in the morning, as opposed to the overly posh brand the café smelled of.

She wondered what he was doing, back up in their hotel rooms alone. Both Chad and Thaddeus were nursing hangovers and had opted to stay in for the morning, while Evangeline had surprisingly made plans to go about the city with Charlotte. It seemed the two were actually very good friends, and Evangeline's nerves at the table last night had all emanated from Helen Storm's presence.

Logan had promised Violet he wouldn't be too lonely, lounging back in her bed with his arms behind his head as she dressed. They'd slept soundly all night, his arms snuggled around her and his breath on the back of her neck. While she'd been talking with Fawn last night he'd changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, curled up comfortably under the covers in them while Violet had forced herself into the damned cocktail dress, his eyes following the lines of her body.

They'd lingered on the still fading wounds of her arm where those hounds from the forests had taken a go at her, and she had in turn looked at his own. "Your healing capacity is shit," he'd remarked in the fact that his wounds were quickly faded and hers weren't.

"Thank you," she'd replied sweetly, pulling the cardigan over her shoulders. "I am ever so flattered."

"I just don't like seeing you hurt," he'd said as she'd grabbed a hair clip for her bangs from her bag by the nightstand. He'd taken the opportunity to pull her into his lap, kiss her soundly on the mouth. He tasted of sleep; a weird contrast to the minty toothpaste she'd just spat out of her mouth minutes earlier. "Unless I'm the one doing it." He'd given her a seductive smirk, traced the bite on her collarbone. Violet had given a soft whine of want and frustration at his touch. "Blow Fawn off; spend the day with me…" He'd laid suggestive kisses to the side of her neck and she'd sighed, pushing him off because she couldn't.

He'd assured her he'd be fine– albeit bored– without her company afterwards, giving murmur of making some business call or another before she'd left and met a sleepy Wyatt at his bedroom door.

"So are you in school?" Fawn finally asked, breaking the silence at their table.

Violet looked up, blush tingeing her cheeks as she wiped cream off the corner of her mouth. "I was… Just community college though. Nothing fancy."

"Did you do well?" asked Fawn, Wyatt rolling his eyes at the typical parent-wants-to-know kind of question. He once said that was basically the only topic between him and his parents when he was a kid– _How's school? Fine. That's good, son._– besides the usual yelling matches about his rebellious behavior.

"Yes," Violet said softly. "I…school was always okay for me. I understood it easily enough." Luckily she'd never had to be the type that needed endless studying to keep a decently high grade average; it had allowed for after-school jobs that gave her and Danny the money they so desperately needed after her parents fell apart. And plus it had landed her a good number of grants and a generous amount from FAFSA; otherwise even community college would have been off the list.

"What about you, young Wyatt?" Fawn asked, smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I heard you had a spat of trouble last year."

Wyatt tried not to choke on the muffin he was taking eager bites from, coughing into his hand before regaining his composure. "Uh, yes ma'am," he replied, rubbing at the back of his head uncomfortably. "But I'm headed back, in about two weeks. Public school this time."

"How nice," Fawn said, taking a good long sip of her tea, before turning back to Violet. "So, tell me sweetheart, have you had other men in your life besides Logan?"

This time, it was Violet's turn to nearly choke on her breakfast. The conversation had, just like that, taken a turn for the worst. Violet glanced nervously between Fawn and Wyatt, watching the latter's brows draw together. Had Wyatt caught on to Fawn's true meaning of the question? Oh Gods, he couldn't find out like _this_ of all things. That was just cruel.

"I had my brother Danny, of course," Violet said, trying to steer the connotation of Fawn's words in a new direction. "And my dad, before he passed."

"Oh, Gods, I am so sorry to hear that!" Fawn said, clasping a golden hand to her chest in astonishment. "What happened, dear?"

"He died while serving in Iraq," Violet said, swallowing away the grief in her chest. At least she'd gotten Fawn to change the topic. "It was a long time ago, though."

"What of your…_mother_?" Fawn asked, the jealousy obviously written all over her face.

"She misses him terribly," said Violet vaguely, stiffening as she felt Wyatt grab at her hand again under the table for a reassuring squeeze. It hadn't taken him more than two days to get Violet to spill her entire life to him; she guessed that was why they'd become so close so quickly, even if she had still thought the Fairgrave house was full of crazy, murderous cult followers at the time. "She's back with Danny at home right now."

_And not taking care of him at all._ Violet tried not to let the guilt swallow her, as she often did when alone in her room at night when crying into the pillows like a coward. Though she logically knew she couldn't go back to Danny now– not with all of this insanity of Gods and war– she also couldn't stop thinking about the fact of how alone he was. Logan had said Albany was there to look after him, and she'd told him to call their aunt to come and help with their mother, but that wasn't enough. Their aunt wasn't good with emotions; Albany was a bit too flighty when it came to giving Danny the kind of affection he needed. That of a parent, not a friend. Violet had been more his mother than his sister for so long, and without her to guide him she worried how deep the loss of family would be able to cut Danny now.

"Logan told me of the manner in which you, ahem, came to _be_ with him," said Fawn, shaking her head. "It must have been atrocious for you."

"It wasn't fun," Violet said. "But, I mean, Wyatt helped." She turned to give the boy a bright smile, because she would be ever thankful for the comfort he'd given her when she'd been so confused at being kidnapped, and hadn't remembered Persephone at all.

"She thought we were all lunatics," Wyatt chuckled, taking a large swig of his orange juice before rubbing at his neck again. "Thaddeus really scared her a lot too. Those faded lines on his cheek– that's from Vi clawing him up. She's pretty damned tough for such a small thing!"

"She always was," said Fawn, a dreamy look about her. "Her weakness though was her heart."

"I think she's got a good heart," defended Wyatt.

"So does Logan," retorted Fawn.

"Well yeah," said Wyatt obliviously. "Everyone does. We all love her."

Something lit up in Fawn's eyes then, something unpleasant and calculating. Violet bristled on the edge of her seat as Fawn's thin lips curled up to a smirk at the corners. "I think Logan loves her most of all," said Fawn haughtily, glancing to Violet with a lift of the brow. "Isn't that right, dear?"

Violet said nothing, anger piling in the pit of her stomach at the woman's pettiness.

"What do ya mean by that?" asked Wyatt, raise of his brow. The boy wasn't the smartest with books and school and sometimes even common sense, but he wasn't stupid, either.

"Oh, nothing," Fawn said with a wave of her hand and chuckle. "I think that's for you and Violet and Logan to discuss.

Clenching her fists, Violet gave Fawn a slight look of disdain. "So, Fawn, what do you do for a living?" She tried to keep the venom she felt in her mouth from leaking into her words, not without difficulty.

She listened half-alert as the woman prattled on about publishing cook books or something or rather, instead focusing her attentions on Wyatt, who looked lost in his own thoughts. Her nerves coiled up at that, and she couldn't bring herself to finish her breakfast, even if lemon tea truly was her favorite.

When all was said and done, Fawn brightly chirped she'd pay the check and that she'd see the two _children_ again at the meeting in a few hours. Both Wyatt and Violet wrinkled their noses at the phrase. Wyatt was technically a legal adult, and Violet, well she hadn't been a child for a damned long time.

They took the elevator back up to their rooms in relative silence at first, before Wyatt turned to her and asked, "Hey, Vi, what did Fawn mean back there, about you and Logan?"

"She's still sour about the last abduction," Violet said, which wasn't technically a lie.

The elevator stopped on their floor and both stepped out into the hall, Wyatt lingering too close to Violet's side; she knew he was nervous about something. So when he asked, "Were you lying the other day when I asked if you and Logan are together now?" Violet wasn't much surprised.

"No," she sighed as they came to her room's door, closer to the elevator than Wyatt's. She figured she'd have to tell him sooner or later anyways, so it was best to just get it over with now. "But last night, he said some…_stuff_."

"What kind of stuff?" Wyatt asked, expression growing blue.

"That he likes me," Violet mumbled, the best she could surmise Logan's confusing but all to warming little rant he'd given in the elevator, right before they'd–

"Well that much is obvious," Wyatt snorted, causing Violet to glance up in shock. "He's been smitten with you ever since he got back to the house, Violet. I mean, Hades and Persephone, _duh_."

"It's not like that," Violet was quick to defend. "We're not them anymore, Wyatt."

"But that's why you'd like each other," Wyatt said simply, his eyes full of resolve. "You and Logan, you argue all the time and just generally piss each other off. You're not right for each other, Vi. But because you were Hades and Persephone, there's gonna be some feeling there."

"Why does everyone think we're not right for each other?" Violet asked, her tone growing harsher. First Fawn, and now Wyatt? Her _best friend_ was telling her that what she wanted– which was Logan namely in this situation– wasn't right. And she'd be damned if another person was going to tell her what she wanted was wrong. Violet had felt wrong about everything her entire life, but when she was with Logan everything felt _right_. "I like him too, Wyatt."

For his part, Wyatt didn't seem as fazed as she thought he'd be. "Hades and Persephone," he repeated.

"No." said Violet, words almost a growl. "I like _Logan_. This is different, Wyatt. I'm _not_ Persephone. I have her memories, but it's like she was a different person than me. And I remember Hades too, and he is not Logan. Logan is more…_human_." _And that's why I like him so much_, Violet couldn't help but think. Because as a God, Hades had been so ethereal and steely to touch, but Logan, Logan felt _real_ and _right_ and there was no hesitance in Violet's feelings for him.

"So what, you _are_ together now?" asked Wyatt, his own tone taking on an angry note.

"I don't know!" Violet nearly shouted. "It'd be none of your business if we were!"

"None of my business?" Wyatt asked. "He's my friggin' _uncle_, Violet. We all live in the same goddamned house. If you and him are gonna be running around in it _fucking_, I think I have the right to know so I can at least get some earplugs!"

At Wyatt's blatant contempt, Violet drew back in shock. "It isn't like that," she said, because there was more between her and Logan than just _fucking_. Yes, they'd been physical last night, but he'd also said he wanted her; that meant something.

"You're blind if you think he wants you for more than anything than a power-play and a quick fuck, Vi," Wyatt said, his voice full of spite. "I know Logan, and he doesn't _do_ love. Not the kind you deserve, anyways. You wanna know why he took you? It's so he can feed off your divinity. I thought you knew that from the beginning. Why else would he go through all the trouble of kidnapping you just to make you remember? He could've just dated you like some normal person if he likes you so much!"

Wyatt's words felt like a sudden slap to the face. Violet staggered, blinked as they sank in. Logan _had_ said he'd brought her to the house because they were stronger together, but she thought he'd been concerned about her safety and had wanted her to remember so they could be allies or something, not to blatantly use her. But it made sense, didn't it? Lock her up; keep her close instead of forming an actual friendship first. He hadn't been thinking of Violet at all when he'd kidnapped her; just himself.

"How– how do you know this?" she stuttered out, looking down at her feet in utter embarrassment and self-contempt that she hadn't realized this earlier. Because wasn't it so _obvious_? Logan has said it would be easier to bring her to the house and have her remember– but simply easier for _him_.

"I told you it ain't hard to pick up a phone and listen in," Wyatt said, his tone seeming to have softened now that he could see her dejection. "But wait, listen Vi… I– that was shitty of me to say he's just going to use you up like that. Maybe at first he didn't have much plans past using your powers, but everyone at the house, we all…we all _care_ and we'd never just use you like that."

"But I'm just a simple fuck for Logan, right?" she chuckled. _Boys tell you nice things to get in your pants all the time,_ Albany had told her once before. It had worked perfectly well for Logan last night.

Wyatt paled. "I didn't mean it like–"

"Yes you did," Violet said softly, then gave him a small smile. "It's okay. I'll see you at the meeting though, alright? I think I'm gonna take a nap for a bit."

"Violet," Wyatt tried, but she was already sliding her key into the slot and opening the door. "I…okay, I'll see you at the meeting."

She gave him one last grin before shutting the door behind herself, the false expression falling from her lips as she quickly kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her cardigan, grabbed for the zipper on the back of her dress, wanting to rip the fake perfection off. She was suddenly so very angry; mainly at herself for thinking this was some kind of big romance novel when there were so many more things she should be focusing on. They may be going to _war_ against _Gods_, and here she was just wanting to pretend none of it was happening and instead doing nothing and thinking that maybe she was going to fall in love and save the world all at the same time. _Stupid, stupid girl_.

"Goddamn it," she hissed, when the zipper to her dress stuck. She gave a wracked sob, no tears, just scrabbling, shaking fingers.

Suddenly there were hands on hers and she shrieked, spinning around to see Logan looking at her with a raised brow. She'd forgotten they'd left the door connecting their rooms open. He must have hear her dramatic entrance and came to help. She noticed he'd dressed while she was gone– slacks and a Henley with dark sleeves. His hair was still wet from showering, and his feet were bare. She clenched her hands into fists at the little pitter-patter of her heart from the casualness of him, the familiar thrum of longing.

"Don't touch me," she said, her tone neutral and yet as cold as ice.

Logan seemed very taken aback now, his mouth opening, closing, opening again. "What did Fawn say to you?" he finally sighed, giving his eyes a slight roll.

"Fawn didn't say anything."

"Wyatt?" Logan asked, tone taking a hardened edge. "I swear on the river Styx if that twerp tried to make a move I'm going to–"

"Don't call him that," Violet said, appalled. "He's your _nephew_, Logan."

"Adopted," Logan shrugged, reaching out for her again. "Now here, let me help you with the zipper so we can–"

"So we can _what_?" she asked, feeling ashamed and almost dirty. There were so many emotions in her right now she couldn't make heads or tails which one fit. She'd been lying to herself so long– not, not _lying_ just not admitting– and now that she was letting it out it was making her skin crawl, like she wanted to rip it all off and start screaming about how very real this all was. "So I can let you fuck me again?"

His gaze turned dark then, eyes narrowing. "I did not _fuck_ you, Violet. I wouldn't ever fuck you– not unless you wanted me to."

"I don't," she deadpanned, hands on her hips. "We shouldn't– what are we even _doing_, Logan? You brought me here to help you fight in a _war_, not to have some sort of casual affair."

"There isn't going to be a _war_," Logan said, shaking his head. "We're going to stop all this nonsense before it comes down to that."

"Do you really believe that?" asked Violet, her posture rigid. "Obviously not, otherwise you wouldn't have kidnapped me just so you could have my divinity at beck-and-call to use."

The guilt that passed over Logan's face then was enough to tell her Wyatt had been speaking the truth of Logan's original intentions after all. And she'd probably known as much all along, ever since she'd remembered Persephone, but she'd been so blinded by her own feelings for this man and her self-pitying over missing Danny and helplessness in this stupid situation to notice. _Idiot_, she thought to herself. _Did you really think he wanted to be equals? You're just a toy for him._

"It isn't like that anymore," Logan said, as if guessing her thoughts. "Maybe it was at first, but now that I know what you're capable of Violet, I know I need you for more than just the power you generate. You're _brilliant_. How you fought in the forest that day, you're even stronger than I am!"

"So you're just pretending to like me to give me even more a reason to stay?" she asked softly. Her head was bouncing around so many scenarios now, so many memories with jagged edges that didn't fit together.

"_No_!" Logan said, outraged at the suggestion. "Violet, you have to know that everything I said last night, I meant it."

"Then why hadn't you said it _before_?" she nearly yelled. "Why did it take me dancing with some random guy for you to say you liked me?" He'd said he had no fondness for her from the get-go, until suddenly someone else tried to flirt with her. The only reason he'd wanted her last night was because he'd been jealous that all her attentions were no longer on him. "It's not that fucking hard to say you like someone, Logan. And apparently it's easy to get in my pants too, once the words are out there." She looked down, sighing and touching the bite on her collar in shame.

"Forgive me for having the weakness of men," he said, almost sarcastically. "But you can't really think that's all I want from you."

"I don't know what to think," Violet mumbled, moving to sit on her bed dejectedly. "I'm just so confused by everything."

"Then I guess I should give you time to think on it," said Logan, his tone emotionless. Violet looked up to see his frame had become impassive as well. "I'll come back to get you when it's time to go to the meeting then." He turned and walked for his own room, shutting the door behind him.

Violet stared at the surface for a long moment before giving a small whine, her head aching and the zipper to her dress still stuck. She'd just made everything so unexpectedly complicated. Why did it even matter to her so much that Logan would want more than something physical? She wasn't here for _him_. She was here to help people; to keep humans like Danny and Albany safe from whoever these Gods were that wanted to let the Titans out of their cage and destroy everything just for shits and giggles and revenge.

Yet, her heart still ached when she realized she'd probably just hurt the only man who'd ever proclaimed to want her just as much as she wanted him.


	32. The Decision to Stay

"Logan, are you alright?" It was the tenth time Hecate had asked him the question, and he was getting about damn sick of it.

"No, Hecate, I'm not," he finally intoned, throwing back the contents of the glass in his hand. The whiskey burned going down his throat and he was glad for it. He'd figured getting himself drunk was a better option than wallowing in self-pity over the fight he'd had with Violet just hours before.

She'd been completely right in everything she'd said about him using her, at least in the beginning. He'd told her the truth when he said she was more powerful than even him, and that he saw her as an equal in that now and not just something he could manipulate.

And he'd been even more truthful when he'd said that he wanted to be with her, for so much more than a physical tryst. In the beginnings of a war they may be, he still wanted her. He was sure he was half in love with the girl, for Gods' sake; how could she think that all he wanted from her was sex? Hell, he'd have been perfectly happy just being friends with her if that meant he was allotted her company. Well, okay, maybe _just friends_ wouldn't have made him the happiest man in the world, but he would take whatever he could get by this point.

Because he knew he'd seriously fucked up.

Since the beginning, it had been only a matter of time before Violet would find out his original intentions. He was only sorry _he_ hadn't been the one to tell her and apologize before they'd gotten into this whole mess. Because now she thought he didn't care about her and he'd just used her the night before. And Gods knew using her had been the furthest thing from his mind last night.

But Wyatt had apparently said _something_, or at least that's what Violet had suggested when she'd been half close to screaming at him, or quite possibly choking him– he wouldn't doubt she'd wanted to by the look in her eyes– just two hours earlier.

Logan wanted to know exactly what Wyatt had said, but the little twerp had managed to evade both his and Violet's company by sticking close to either Hecate or Chad. Right now he was with the latter, grimly picking at the five-star lunch John had taken the time to order for everyone before the meeting. They were all stuck in the hall together to mingle until the rest of Logan's siblings decided to get their asses down here and get the ball rolling, which Logan hoped was soon so he and the others would be able to catch their flight home on time. One more day in this Gods forsaken place and he was probably going to go crazy, if he hadn't already.

He refilled his glass with more whiskey, ignoring Hecate's disapproving sort of look as she silently nibbled at the salad on her plate. At least John had had courtesy enough to remember the woman was a pesquitarian, and hadn't sent her a steak like he had many of the others. Logan hadn't much bothered to touch his own lunch yet– he preferred alcohol.

Violet wasn't touching hers at all either, a fact which worried him. She was still too freaking skinny. And even though the plate was filled with all her favorites– some kind of marinated chicken, diced potatoes, green beans, a strawberry tart and pomegranate juice– she'd only managed a nibble before setting her face in a hard line and pushing the fine china away from her at the table.

She hadn't spoken to him since the fight, instead choosing the company of Thaddeus in the walk down to the hall and asking him more about his time in the Ukraine– politely avoiding the topic of communism for Thaddeus' sake– and how he'd gotten so good at honing in his accent. (Logan himself knew it was from a year of Rosetta Stone training that Thaddeus had bitched about endlessly in native tongue before one day the language had all but disappeared from his vocabulary.)

When they'd made it to the meeting hall– a different one from what the gala was held in last night; this place was more professional though just as grand with golden walls and silk tapestries and checkered floors beneath the giant table lined in white cloth at which they all sat– Violet had quickly drawn the attention of a very tall, colorfully dressed woman who'd simply _adored_ her hair, as she'd so put it.

The woman had introduced herself as Janet then, and Logan realized this was Janus' incarnation that Violet was smiling at and shaking hands with. She was a pretty woman, with square jaw and sharp features and lean build. Her skin was as dark as Selene's, but instead of white, her hair was a russet color in ringlets down to her shoulders. She wore a very nice designer dress and a pair of heels Violet had asked how she could manage to walk in.

And no, Logan _wasn't_ eavesdropping. He just happened to overhear, thank you very fucking much.

Right now Violet was still talking to Janet, who was eating her steak happily while sipping a glass of red wine and asking Violet endless questions about herself. All the personal attention was making Violet a bit uncomfortable, Logan could tell. But it seemed she liked Janet enough she was happy to answer the other woman's questions.

"So, are you with Mr. Fairgrave– or I guess I should say _Hades_ in this life, then?" Janet asked. She'd admitted that it was still a bit daunting to her to realize she'd been a God in another life, just one more thing she and Violet had bonded over.

Violet paled at the question, her creamy skin a stark contrast to the shimmering dress she wore. It was one John had picked out for her of course, a pretty pink with ruffles that she'd worn beneath a white cardigan. Logan liked the color a lot on her, and had taken even more to drink when he'd started thinking of how much he'd like it _off_ of her too.

For a moment, Violet looked up at him. When she noticed him looking steadily back her pallid cheeks turned red and she glanced down. "Um…I don't think so," she said to Janet after a terse moment.

Logan was about to crush the glass in his hand out of frustration, when finally John and Edgar graced the room with their presence, Helen, Fawn and Charlotte following behind with looks of boredom on their faces. John greeted everyone in a booming sort of voice, while he, Edgar, Fawn and Helen sat at the head of the table. Charlotte quickly moved down to sit on the opposite of Hecate, who'd saved a seat for her. The two women smiled at each other in old acquaintance, and Logan tried give his sister a welcoming glance but was still busy grimacing over Violet's response to Janus.

_I don't think so._

Gods damn it all to Tartarus.

He'd been an idiot for keeping all of this from her. She deserved so much better. Maybe he should have just let her talk to that _Michael_ guy at the gala last night. They'd seemed awfully close before he'd interrupted… His grip tightened around the glass even more at the memory and he could feel it beginning to splinter.

"Friends, how glorious it is to see us all together once again!" called John with a wavering smile.

There was a mumble through the room and Logan noticed Eros' mother of this century bouncing the littler brat on her knee as he sucked at his thumb. The boy was nine, for Gods' sake, and he was still as babyish as he had been as a God, always hooked to Aphrodite's side like he was with his new mother. Supposedly it'd taken an all but brain-frying spell for the woman to be convinced of who her son was, and she seemed a bit…_off_ because of it. She'd only ever spoken to Charlotte in snippets of French; always keeping Eros– whose name was Henry in this life– close to her petite side.

There was another child in the room in the form of Tyche, who was only fifteen. She'd taken to Molly and Alice's side since being uprooted from her boarding school in Switzerland to come here and be with the Gods. Her name was Rosy in this life, and she was as quite as Logan remembered her being in all the others he'd encountered her in, which he believed to be about fifteen. A small amount, considering how many lives he had had by this point.

Tamara seemed to like the Goddess of fortune and luck very much, for once choosing not to harass Logan and instead focusing on Rosy and how she felt about being around all the other Gods.

Neither Athena nor Artemis were at the meeting as Logan had expected them to be, meaning neither was Eirene, who they'd taken under their care. But they were very independent women, he knew. And though they were both daughters of Zeus, they no longer took command from him in this life.

Laurel– the name Athena went by in the mortal world this cycle– was still sour with Edgar about their tithe over Athens when they were Gods and therefor didn't much like "family" gatherings as John sometimes referred to these little meetings.

Artemis usually stuck with Athena throughout their lifetimes, and wanted almost nothing to do with the other Gods unless her brother, Apollo was with them. But he hadn't been for close to five centuries now, so Artemis kept her distance, the sovereign being she was, besides with Athena.

"We are so very glad to have you with us once again, friends," continued John. "Especially now that we know young Persephone is by our side once more!" He indicated to Violet ceremoniously who ducked her head towards her plate, looking squeamish under the attention. Logan had the insistent urge to wrap his arm around her protectively and whisper something reassuring in his ear, but that wasn't going to happen and so he finally took the chance to stab into his lunch instead, not even tasting what he put in his mouth.

"But as you well know," said John, tone becoming gloomy. "We are not here under the best of circumstances. It seems there are those of our kind whom oppose mine and my siblings' rule, which has been instilled since the beginning of time… They seek to raise the Titans against us once more in ploy of defeat, so they may strip us of our remaining immortality and ascend to the thrones we have lost.

"That is why, dear friends, we are so urgent to gather together once more. As Gods we are stronger in the presence of each other. And though those with the Titans may be in search for a way to free our most opposed foes, we have something they do not– Hades himself, who owns the key to Tartarus."

All eyes turned to Logan then and he glowered steadily back, daring them to say something. They all knew as well as he the key to Tartarus had been lost for centuries and he had no idea how to find it since all objects from when he'd been immortal were not at his disposal. The world had all but swallowed they key whole the last time he'd put the Titans in their cage, and the Olympians' luck of finding it was about as great as those who opposed them. Even if those who wished to release the Titans had entrance to the Underworld, it would do them no good without a way to get into Tartarus; their little trick of stealing the Keys of Hades was just about useless without the last one in their hands.

"It is our belief that if we ally enough of the other Gods, we shall be able to overcome our oppressors," said John seriously, intentionally leaving out that he also wanted to steal the others' immortality right back and try to retake this precious throne on Olympus. "As you all know now, we have found you with a spell. A spell that requires much power to use. My siblings and I are unfortunately drained from our last tampering with such magic, and that is why I have gathered you all here today…"

John continued on with his speech while Logan made an endeavor to get more drunk to drown out his brother's voice. John, of course, wanted the newest Gods to try the spell themselves and find the others. He would not force such a thing on anyone as he had with Logan and their other siblings, but he reassured it was vital in the name of their survival. He said that he would make accommodations for everyone who wished to help at his home, and that they may stay until more Gods were to be found.

He never mentioned a word about the foretold dangers of the first snow.

One by one, the Gods around the table were asked if they'd like to stay to participate. Except Wyatt of course, whose identity as a Demigod kept him exempt. Tyche agreed at the urging of Tamara, as did Eros' mother. Thaddeus declined, and so did Chad. But Hecate, surprising Logan, said _yes_. He stared at her with a mixture of shock and betrayal, but she simply patted his shoulder as John continued down the line.

"I must find the Eirenyes," she told him softly, expression grievous. "In case you do not remember their last lives, they were _killers_. Their malicious nature has bled into even their mortal forms. With the added divinity of those in Zeus' home, I shall be able to find all three at once.

"But I swear to you that after I am done, I shall be back to the estate as soon as I may, and let Zeus deal with the women accordingly. He may put their…_passions_ to good use against the others who try to harm us. But if the Eirynes are killing mortals unjustly in this life as they were in their lasts, I cannot let that continue in good conscience. The only reason I have not sought them out sooner is because they are undoubtedly together by this point. But with enough power, I believe I can transcend the limits of the spell and find them. It is worth a try if it saves innocents Logan, is it not?"

"But do you really think you can cheat magic, Hecate?" Logan murmured, voice low so no one would hear. She herself had said that once bonded to each other, Gods could not be found.

Hecate smiled– a truly wicked smile at that. "I _am_ the one who created it, my lord," she said, and Logan knew he couldn't doubt her abilities with an answer like that.

John's line of questioning finally ended on Violet, who both Fawn and Janet looked at with eager eyes. The latter had agreed to stay and help, most likely wanting Violet to join her as a companion. And Logan knew Fawn was more than greedy with the urge to have Violet all to herself away from Logan. The things she would tell Violet about him in order to get her to want to remain by her side…

"She's not staying," Logan said before he could stop himself. All eyes at the table once again turned in his direction; Violet was glaring.

"It's not _your_ choice," she said, the venom in her tone shocking everyone at the table.

"The hell it isn't," Logan said. He would _not_ lose her; he couldn't. Especially not like this, not when she'd leave hating him even more than she already had. "Violet, you can't seriously want to stay with these people."

Everyone at the table seemed insulted by that, except for Thaddeus and Chad who were quietly snickering, as was Wyatt. Charlotte and Hecate, for their part, seemed unaffected by the comment.

"And just what's wrong with us?" asked Fawn from the head of the table.

"You're power-hungry whores," Logan said without pause, causing an uproar.

"And you're not?" Violet asked him above the din, expression full of anger and betrayal.

"Not when it comes to you," he said in complete honesty. "…Not anymore."

She blinked at that, seeming to see the desperation in his expression. She _had_ to understand that he didn't just need her for her power anymore, but that he needed _her_. That he needed every inch of her stubborn little soul. She was an oasis and he was a man in the desert dying of thirst. Without her, he knew he'd be lost. He'd been lost before her, but now that he'd found her she made things feel _right_. Maybe not much clearer, because she was as confusing as all hell, the stalwart creature she was, but _right_.

He knew when he was with her that everything was good, and he couldn't lose her because he was too selfish to give up a feeling such as that.

It was a long moment before Violet finally said, "I can't stay," ending the bickering at the table as everyone turned to stare at her now, instead of insult Logan. "I have to go back to…my daughter," she lied easily, trying to give everyone and urging sort of look. "Melione is old in this life; she needs me."

Logan had to give Violet points, for being able to act so convincingly despite the fact minutes before she'd been yelling at him over telling everyone she couldn't stay. Though he supposed it _was_ true that Violet had taken to spending quite a lot more time with Myrtle, since finding out their connection. While the old woman never made much sense when she talked, Violet would sit with her in the sitting room and read as Myrtle knit and talked to the Shades around her, calling Marea a "rabbit" and even sometimes calling Violet "Momma" though the girl had never truly known how to react to the old woman's sentiments, besides fondly touching Myrtle on the shoulder with a warm smile.

"Oh, well _of course_ you have to go back to your daughter, then!" exclaimed Janet, expression full of sympathy as she patted Violet's arm in sudden understanding.

Fawn looked unconvinced, trying to argue with John to let her keep Violet with her. In the end John said it was Violet's decision, and Violet chose Logan over Fawn ever so softly, saying she had to go back and giving no more explanation.

The smug smile on Logan's lips never left, even if Violet still refused to talk to him as they rode the elevator back up to their rooms.

* * *

Hecate came with them all to the airport to see them off, as did Charlotte and Janet, who'd quickly been taken under the two elder women's wings, though Logan had to guess Charlotte couldn't be more than a few years older than Janet, in truth.

"You'll have to write me, sweetheart," Janet said to Violet with a tight hug. "God knows I'm still so confused about all this Godly business, and it'll be nice to have a friend that still feels like they're from the real world I can talk about it with."

"Of course!" said Violet assuredly, hugging Janet right back. "I'm sure after all is said and done, you can even come stay at the house for a while with me."

"We'd be delighted to have you," input Logan, giving the woman a welcoming smile.

"I thought you didn't like me," said Janet with a scowl.

"I don't like my siblings," Logan said, shrugging. "Charlotte's the only one I can stand, and just barely."

"Hey," laughed Charlotte, punching him in the shoulder lightly. "You know you love me." Logan _hmed_ in reply.

"I don't like your other siblings much either," Janet said, wrinkling her nose. "That John sure thinks he's hot shit, and won't stop calling me by the name I went as when I was still a dude."

"He's a fuckin' idiot," said Thaddeus, puffing away at a cigarette even though the terminal didn't allow smoking. He was lucky security hadn't rounded by them yet. Things with a spark in airports were not taken kindly to. "Always has been, always will be. How the Fates decided him King, I don't even want to know."

"He cheated at the lots," said Charlotte with a shrug. It was a well-known fact by now that Zeus had somehow managed to outwit even Fate. "He didn't want the responsibility of the Underworld, so he made sure Hades got that. And then the sea didn't offer enough worship, so he gave that lot to Poseidon. Took the crown and the laid-back job upon himself."

"Ass," murmured Thaddeus, taking one last drag of the cigarette before stomping it out beneath his foot. "I hope one of these lives he gets his tongue cut out or something, just so we don't have to hear him talk about himself so much."

"Don't let him hear you say that," said Janet. "I'm sure he'd cut yours out all the same."

"Future lovers everywhere would be devastated," Thaddeus said with a wink, and Janet snorted at him, as did Chad, who looked even a little…_jealous_ at Thaddeus' subtle flirting.

"You wish," said Janet.

"Maybe I do," Thaddeus answered.

The group hurried on with their goodbyes after that, their flight calling for board within the next minute. Hecate gave Wyatt a lingering hug and told him to _be good_. She hugged Violet just as intensely, smoothing back the girl's hair and murmuring words Logan couldn't hear into her ear.

He was the last that Hecate said goodbye to, usually not one for such public displays of affection or hugs in general, but she'd been a constant in his life since he was a child, and it would be odd to have her away staying with his jackass of a brother, no less. "You take care of yourself," said Hecate and he nodded. "And you work things out with Violet too. You're an idiot for not explaining to her sooner, Logan."

"I know," Logan sighed, staring at Violet who was giggling her goodbyes to Charlotte and Janet while twiddling shyly with the braid the latter had fixed into her hair. "I know."

* * *

Violet didn't sit next to him on the flight. Instead she took Hecate's vacant seat next to Wyatt.

After he was done withstanding a panic attack from the turbulence, Logan leaned back in his seat to shamelessly listen to Violet and Wyatt's conversation. He told himself it was mainly so he could figure out what words had been shared between the two to alert Violet to his original attentions, though the back of his mind whispered it was also so he could punch Wyatt in the mouth if he said something against him again. Or tried to hit on Violet. Either way, Logan would make sure the boy had some teeth missing, even if he had spent over three grand on the kid's braces from seventh to ninth grade.

"I really am sorry about what I said, Vi," Wyatt was murmuring, and Logan could just imagine Wyatt touching her for reassurance. He tried to ignore the heat in his throat at the thought. "I didn't mean most of it, I really didn't."

"It's okay, Wyatt," Violet said softly. "It's best I found out now instead of down the line after…" She trailed off, and Logan wondered just what she had intention of saying. "Anyways, it's not like I can really blame Logan for his actions. I guess I can understand why he'd want to use my powers; and I'm glad it was him rather than John that got to me first, in all honesty."

"I don't think he wants you for just your powers anymore, Vi," Wyatt tried to sooth. "I mean, the way he looks at ya'…I've never seen him look at a woman like that before. And there have been plenty of women, trust me."

Violet scoffed and Logan grit his teeth, resisting the urge to turn around and slap Wyatt across the face. Instead he focused in on the conversation between Thaddeus and Chad in front of him for a moment. The two seemed in a whispered argument that Logan couldn't make out, and before long he realized he didn't even want to know what the two idiots were fighting about. Instead he turned his attention back to Violet and Wyatt.

"It doesn't really matter how he feels, Wyatt," Violet was saying at this point, her voice sad. "I mean, we're in the middle of a war. Once all of this is over, I have to go back to Danny. Even if there was a future for Logan and I, I couldn't just leave my brother behind."

Those words stung a little to hear, because Logan knew they were true. No matter how much Violet had come to care for him, she would never choose him over her brother in the end. She'd never choose anyone over her brother, for that matter. The only reason she'd stopped trying to get back to Danny so desperately was because she'd realized that by staying with Logan it was actually protecting the boy. Now that the others knew of her, it kept Danny out of their eyesight by aligning herself with Logan. If they wanted to get to her, they'd come to him and not Danny. And even if they wanted to try and use Danny against Violet, Logan had assured the boy was well taken care of. He had many an acquaintance that kept eye over him.

And he knew Albany's company was also something to scare the others off, too. Gods didn't take kindly to nymphs nowadays; even if Albany was a second generation who knew nothing of her lineage, she was more immortal than any God had hopes of being in this lifespan. She may have been a hybrid (at least according to the background check Logan had performed on the girl after realizing what the girl was. Her mother was human and must have consorted with a male nymph in order to conceive Albany, explaining the absence of the girl's father. It also explained why she and Violet had such an intense bond; nymphs weren't short of Gods and had been the loyal hands of Demeter that had watched over Persephone until Hades had stolen her away.) yet she'd still live for hundreds and hundreds of years, even if she didn't know it yet.

But whatever protection the boy had been given, Violet wouldn't stay away from him forever. If this war never came to pass and the enemy was soon overridden, she would go back to Danny. Even if the war was to be, if they won, she would go back to Danny. And if they lost…well, Logan wouldn't think about that. Whatever the case being, Violet would always put her brother first. She cared for him more than Logan could fathom, and he knew he couldn't ask to be first in her life even if she did forgive him.

Yet, he reasoned, that didn't mean they couldn't be together. If Violet wanted, when this was all said and done, she could stay with Logan, and bring Danny to live with them too. She could go to a much better college than she had been, and Logan would pay for all of it. She wouldn't have to get a job if she didn't want, and Logan would make sure her mentally ill mother was well taken care of.

By this point he would do almost anything for Violet. Except give her up; he didn't know if he was capable of such a thing by this point. He was too selfish and he needed her too much. Not just to stop Kronus or the others, but because he…_loved_? her. This didn't may not have felt like love– at least not the kind he'd felt before for Patricia– but it felt like so much more, and he didn't know what to call it. Didn't really want to call it anything. All he knew was that he needed Violet, and he couldn't let her go.

"Doesn't Danny start school Monday?" Wyatt asked then, snapping Logan from his reprieves.

Violet sighed. "Yeah… It's his sophomore year, and I won't get to be there to watch him go."

"You can see me off to my senior year," Wyatt offered, grin evident in his tone. "I'll let you pick my clothes and take dumb pictures and write me a cheesy note to put in my lunch or something, if it'll help."

Violet giggled. "I'd like that," she said.

"Me too," Wyatt answered.

The jealousy Logan felt for the quiet intimacy shared between the two of them was enough to make his head hurt, even if he knew Violet's feelings for his nephew only extended to that of a friend. Still, he was irritated enough with their ensuing banter as they played some kind of word game together that he asked Thaddeus to give him the damned Xanax he'd offered on the last flight, slipping into blank sleep just so he didn't have to hear Violet laughter for someone that wasn't him.


	33. The Corpse in the Corner

Michael sat tiredly outside of the café by the lakeshore, puffing away at a cigarette and basically ignoring his breakfast, too lost in his thoughts.

He'd met her last night– _Violet_.

Dino had called him three days before; let him know that some guy named John Storms was holding some dance that she and her beau would be at. Gave Michael a cover story, told him how to act, what to say. And it was easy for Michael to pretend he was someone else; God knew how much he wanted to _be_ someone else most days.

But lying to her hadn't felt right. He'd seen pictures of Violet Porter, sure. Easy to pick her out in a crowd that way. But up close, she was a real sight to see. The girl wasn't really pretty or anything– her eyes too wide and her mouth too small and she had this coltish awkwardness about her when she moved. She was a skinny little thing with a hint of curves wanting to peek through. Michael wasn't really one for skinny girls, but he'd liked her hair a lot, he guessed. And she'd just been so…_sweet_.

She hadn't said much to him by way of conversation, but everything about her demeanor screamed good and innocent. He liked that; it'd been a long time since he'd met someone with that kind of quality. And she'd had a nice laugh too, giggling at his tales from her hometown that he pretended to be on the inside of, when really he didn't have much idea what he was talking about.

All he knew was that the moment he met her, he felt strangely…_attached_ to the girl. That guy that'd been hounding her had been asking for it, but for Violet's sake Michael had reframed himself from beating the douchebag into a bloody pulp. Violet had thanked him well enough, though he could see she'd been bristled from the guy's insults, and all Michael had wanted to do then was make her smile.

And then he had, and she'd _laughed_ and though he didn't think she was that pretty at first, he saw then the subtle beauty in her. It didn't fit the day and age, but somehow he recognized it. Like something in his brain just _clicked_.

He'd asked her to dance even though he hadn't danced all slow and nice like that since his senior prom which was nearly eighteen years prior. It wasn't even part of the ruse Dino had given him. Mainly he'd been sent to that ball to get Violet's attention, get acquainted with John Storm for God knows what reason– that man was absolutely horrendous and had his head so far up his ass it was all Michael could do not to walk away even while trying to give John this big fake spiel about how Michael himself was in the contracting business and wanted to partner up, giving out a card that didn't even hold his real name.

He had to admit though, dancing with Violet afterwards had been nice. There was just a kind of _pull_ about her, like something in him craved something in her. For a moment, while she'd been stumbling over her words as he tried to gain retail into her beau's business there, Michael had wanted to kiss her. He'd almost been ready to, even, until some guy had pulled him off of Violet.

Instantly Michael knew that it had been Logan Fairgrave, the real target in all of this bullshit business Dino was putting him through. Fairgrave was a tall guy, taller than Michael had thought from the pictures he'd seen. And he'd looked like some pissed off cat someone had just poured a bucket of water on, barking at Michael to get off _his_ girl like he owned Violet or something.

In that moment, Michael had wanted to hit the guy as much as he'd wanted to hit the last that had insulted Violet. He could blame it on all the alcohol he'd had last night while trying to seek Violet out, but really it came down to a sense of honor. Michael's dad may have been a real shit caretaker until the old bastard died from liver failure when Michael was twenty-two, but he'd at least done right by teaching Michael how to treat a woman. And you didn't go around acting like you owned them, that's for sure. Especially not a nice girl like Violet, who Fairgrave had basically _kidnapped_ and drug halfway across the continent with him to some party with a bunch of thugs and had made the girl absolutely miserable and afraid, if not blatantly obvious by her demeanor around other people.

Michael had shot something stupid back at Fairgrave, like Violet hadn't ever said anything about being taken, but the guy had looked unconvinced and like he was ready to throw Michael under a bus. Until suddenly, shockingly, Violet had pulled Fairgrave off of Michael, and just one little request and the guy was settling down, looking at Violet with this warm kind of affection like he'd do anything for the girl, anything at all. Michael didn't know if Stockholm's syndrome could work both ways, but in this case he was willing to bet it did.

So then Fairgrave had hauled Violet off somewhere to do God knows what, and Michael had been left staring after him as Fairgrave's lackey kept him from following. He hadn't really gotten to know anything he needed to, but right now, he wagered, he didn't really give a fuck.

He'd slept fitfully in his motel room the night before, walking down to this dumb café for a warm meal and coffee to satiate the hangover prickling at his temples. He'd had some wicked nightmares last night, he knew that much. But that wasn't unusual. War flashbacks in your sleep– he'd been a discharged soldier apt for that since his leave. But these had been different. He hadn't been in Iraq; he hadn't even been in the _present_.

Instead, he'd been somewhere ancient, tunic under armor and sword in hand. He'd roared like a lion and slaughtered thousands, fueled by the spilt blood. He'd drank and made merry afterwards, celebrated with the Gods and cups of ambrosia that tasted like battle and adrenaline. He'd been worshiped by warriors and cities and fucked women more beautiful than any person could dream. He'd controlled it all– the wars and the bloodshed.

Some called him Ares, some called him Mars.

All knew him as a sign of battle, of blood, and he reveled in it.

He'd woken with a hoarse throat and covered in sweat, scars from war throbbing and the pounding of a hangover in his head. Even now as he smoked his cigarette and drank his coffee, it tasted metallic, full of death. He couldn't help but remember Violet's eyes, a spring green that'd he'd have given his most prized spear, shield and armor for, had her mother not refused the gifts…

"Fuck," he grumbled, dropping his cigarette on the ground to dash it out with his boot, dropping his head in his hands.

_I must be more fucked up than I thought._

As if to answer his thoughts, the cellphone Dino had given him began to ring. Michael pulled it from the side pocket of his army jacket, clicking the _answer_ button. "Yeah?"

"Michael, my boy," said Dino cheerfully in that cheesy accent of his. "How did everything go last night?"

"That Fairgrave guy's nuts," answered Michael, taking a sip from the mug on the table and grimacing. For a place that claimed to be a café, they sure had shitty coffee. "And Violet, she's…" He trailed off, not really knowing how to describe Violet. _I liked her._ That was a shithead thing to say.

"Yes?" Dino asked, the longer Michael's pause held.

"You don't want to hurt her, do you?" Michael finally asked, his tone neutral in way of trying to convince Dino he wouldn't care if he did, though he actually would. Very much so. Violet was a sweet kid; she didn't deserve any of this.

"Of course not!" Dino insisted, seeming appalled Michael would think the man capable of such a thing. It was easy to though, really. "We merely need her help in swaying Mr. Fairgrave, as I've told you before. Did you see the two of them interact? I'm sure she has quite the sway over him, yes?"

"That's an understatement," Michael snorted, remembering how with one look Fairgrave had been putty in Violet's little hands. "What is it we want from him anyhow? And no funky riddles this time, Dino. The truth."

"Something of great value," said Dino vaguely, before he gave a long sigh when Michael began cursing at him for his elusiveness. "If you really must know, he is the key to what my colleagues and I wish to access."

"And this thing you wanna access has something to do with John Storm I take it, otherwise you wouldn't have had me scope him out last night," said Michael, staring out over Lake Michigan with a suspicious edge to his voice. "You guys warring mobsters, or somethin'?" Because it was pretty obvious what sort of business both Dino and John were into, if their associates gave away any clues. Michael had been waiting for that guy he'd first pulled off of Violet at the dance last night to pull out a tommy gun or an item equally as cliché

"Or something," Dino chuckled. "Really, Michael, for you to understand, you're going to have to remember your past first. And I'm afraid I can't assist you with that– it's something you'll have to do on your own."

"Got anything to do with Mars?" Michael asked, and even though he'd meant the comment sarcastically, the pregnant silence he was met with on the other end of the line set him on edge. And so he thought, and he thought some more, and suspicion turned to alarm and had him yelling into the phone. "Okay, wait a minute, what the _fuck_ is going on here, Dino? I thought you were in leagues with the mafia or somethin' and that's how you sprang me loose, and that Storm's got a hit on his back, or Fairgrave's someone you wanna make a deal with or that…"

_Shit_, he didn't even really know. All he'd cared about in the beginning was that Dino had gotten him out of that prison, given him a clean slate. He hadn't asked questions, he'd just done what he was told like the good soldier he was. But now, now Michael was desperate to understand this whole ordeal. "How'd that Fairgrave guy supposedly kidnap the Porter girl when they acted like they've known each other for centuries– how'd _you_ know that she'd have such sway over him?"

"Michael, my dear friend," sighed Dino, seeming exasperated. "These are all questions I can't answer for you myself. But if you were to meet some of my associates, maybe they would be able to help… Though I must warn you, they are of a different breed than I entirely."

"I don't care," Michael said, because he really didn't. He wanted his questions answered. "I wanna know what's going on here, Dino. _Now_."

"Of course," said Dino, and there was another moment of silence before he added, "Your flight back to Massachusetts will be changed so that you are brought directly to Istanbul, Turkey instead. You will find a passport in the bottom of your bag, beneath the money I sent you for your trip to Chicago. I will meet you at the terminal in Istanbul, and we shall go to see my associates, and they shall try to explain things to you so you may better understand.

"We wish no harm to the Porter girl, I reassure you once more. In fact, we would very much like her and Mr. Fairgrave as our allies. It is Mr. Storm we're none too quaint with, as I'm sure you can understand now that you have met the man… As for the rest of your questions though, I can assure you they will be answered once we meet in Istanbul, Michael."

"Better be," Michael said, leaning back in his chair. "Why Istanbul?"

"That is where my associates and I are based, as of the moment," said Dino. "I shall see you in less than a day then, I pledge. I look forward to trying to help you in understanding all of this, my friend."

The other line disconnected then, and Michael sat in his seat a short moment before hitting the _end_ button on the cell's screen, blinking and staring around him with a growl as if this world was no longer real. It didn't _feel _as if it was. These new questions rattling around in his head made everything else fuzzy; his childhood memories didn't even make sense all of a sudden. He put a palm to his temple, tried to blink away the cry of battle and the sound of swords clashing, an ancient tongue calling out in victory.

Taking one last look at Lake Michigan and its rippling water he saw turning to blood, he abruptly stood. Dished some bills on the table for his breakfast and started walking back to his motel, eager to get his questions answered, the call of war still singing in the back of his head.

* * *

"So are you just never going to talk to me again, then?" Logan asked, eyes meeting Violet's from where he looked back through the rearview mirror at her.

Their flight had landed less than thirty minutes ago and they were on a steady drive back to the house, Violet's eyes roaming out the window wistfully with Wyatt messing around with his cellphone at her side. Chad sat next to him, seeming overly pissed-off as he glared out the window. Thaddeus was uncharacteristically quiet in the passenger's seat as Logan drove them at a steady speed towards home.

"Can't we wait to start arguing until we get back to the house?" Violet sighed, resting her head on the windowsill.

"So we're going to be arguing, then?" asked Logan, brows raised. "I take it you're also going to hit me this time, too?"

"Why would you think that?" Violet asked indignantly, noticing Wyatt giving her cautious eyes and scooting away a bit. Chad even moved over to make room for the boy.

Logan shrugged, eyes trained back on the road. "I'd deserve it, if you did."

She couldn't refute him on that subject; he _did_ deserve to get punched for lying to her a lot more than she'd originally thought he had. But right now she was too jetlagged to keep up with the banter. The sun was already sinking in the sky and she didn't even really want to fight when they finally made it back to the house; she just wanted to hug Marea and go to bed.

The rest of the drive to the Fairgrave house was silent. By now Violet had been allowed to know that he lived just outside of Hamden, Connecticut on a private estate in one of the state parks. The town they passed through wasn't very small but it wasn't very large either. She liked the road leading up to the house the best, with its sides lined with trees and the crisp scent of looming fall in the air.

The driveway that led up to the house was longer than one would expect; it was nearly ten minutes a drive before they finally reach the first set of gates, Logan hitting a button on the car's dashboard that opened the gates long enough to let them in. Another five minutes and they reached the next set of gates built into the stone wall that encompassed the entire property. A new button was pushed and they were let inside, circling into the drive to park over by the garage.

Violet had decided back on the plane ride it was going to be unambiguously weird without Evangeline here. She'd be the only permanent female resident of the house for a while. Well, besides Myrtle and Marea, but one was half-gone in the head, and the other was a dog so Violet didn't know if they really counted.

Her decision proved to be true as she exited the car with all men, feeling very short and small in comparison. Evangeline was practically the only one in the house she didn't have to crane her head back to look at. _Dash that for a while,_ she thought to herself silently, thanking Thaddeus as he offered to take her bag for her. While he, Logan, Wyatt and she headed for the main house, Chad bid them goodnight to go back to the pool house, giving them all a soft smile except Thaddeus, who simply ignored the young man's snubbing with a derisive roll of his eyes and a snort.

"Wonder what that's all about?" Wyatt asked Violet as they climbed the steps of the front porch, waiting for Logan to let them in. There were about three different locks on the door, so it took him a moment.

And when he did finally push the door open, Violet screamed.

* * *

"No, no, you have to keep _pressure_ on the wound," Violet said, holding her hand tight to the gaping slit in Myrtle's side, trying and failing to keep trickles of blood from leaking out.

"We need to move her so we can get her to the hospital!" Thaddeus said, looking frantic.

By now Chad had come running to the main house, looking wide-eyed in terror at the bloody scene before him. There was a dead man in the corner of the entry foyer, and Myrtle was all but leaking her guts onto the floor. Marea was barking from somewhere in the house and Violet had screamed for Wyatt to go find her and see why she wasn't already here.

Logan was kneeling down next to Violet holding Myrtle's hand as the old woman gurgled and pleaded for them not to take her to the hospital. "Too much dead, too much dead," she kept saying, a cadence that never ended.

"It'll just kill her quicker if we take her there!" Violet screamed at Thaddeus, who was still insistently trying to get them to take her anyways. "She won't be able to handle all the death."

"I found her!" Wyatt shouted from somewhere in the house, startling Thaddeus and Chad from where they were pacing around the dead man's body, both jumping back as a bloody-mouthed Marea cam racing down the stairs, barking and snarling until she saw who was in the house, her growls tempering into whimpers as she came over to lick at Myrtle's face as a sign of comfort.

Wyatt came racing down the stairs on her tail then, looking panicked. "She was locked in Logan's office upstairs– the entire room was _trashed_. There are papers strewn everywhere, and the computer was smashed into pieces."

"Someone tried to hack the mainframe," Logan growled, standing up and looking once to the corpse in the corner then back down at Myrtle. "They must have broken it so I couldn't track them."

"Who would _do_ this?" Violet asked, supporting Myrtle's head in her lap. The gash in the older woman's side wasn't that large, but there was enough blood it was obvious she'd been lying on the floor bleeding out for hours, too weak and scared to get up from the floor and find help.

"I have a pretty good idea," said Logan, turning to kick one of the tables in the entry foyer over. "Hecate _promised_ the wards would keep them out!"

"Keep _who_ out?" Wyatt asked, looking half-green as he observed the already rigor-mortis corpse in the corner of the room. "Who's this guy, anyways?"

"He's a satyr I hired to look after the house while we were gone."

"Explains why they nearly chopped his head off then," said Thaddeus, side-stepping the puddle of blood the body had created on the floor. By now it was dried and sticky to the marble. "Best way to kill a satyr."

"There are more _important things here_," Violet hissed, thankful that she'd managed to get the wound at Myrtle's side to settle a bit. It had mainly dried over by now, but the old woman's blood was thin and kept leaking through. "She might need stitches."

"I can do those," said Chad, finally stopping in his half-crazed observation of the dead body in the room. At the skeptical look Violet gave him he raised his hands defensively. "I did two years nursing school before I came here. It's one of the first labs you learn."

"What if she's lost too much blood?" Violet asked worriedly, looking down at Myrtle who had stopped crowing about not wanting to go to the hospital and had instead started to repeatedly call Violet _Momma_ and asked her to stay with her while Marea whimpered at Violet's side.

"It looks like she's only lost about a quart," Chad said softly, kneeling down to Violet's side. "If we get the bleeding to stop now, get some fluids in her and keep infection at bay, she should recover."

"Maybe we should just take her to the hospital?" Wyatt said.

"And tell them what?" asked Logan morosely. "For all we know, she has some of Slater's blood on her. What are we going to tell the police about the dead body? We're not exactly in a situation here for a police investigation, Wyatt."

Violet figured Slater was the dead…_satyr_ in the corner. He didn't look like a satyr though– no horns or goat legs. Just a pressed suit and his head half chopped off.

"But if we don't call the police, what are we going to do with the body then?" asked Violet, shooing Chad off to go get a first aid kit so he could put Myrtle back together. The young man ran faster than she'd ever seen him run before, even when he'd been chasing her that first day she'd tried to escape.

"Bury him in the woods," said Thaddeus simply. "If he's a satyr, no one will miss him. I was gonna say we buried him after taking Myrtle to the hospital anyways, but Logan brings up a good point… He isn't very integrated into society or anything, right?"

"No," Logan said, shaking his head with a sigh. "He only works for other creatures of lore, or fallen Gods. I met him through John, originally. The only people that will come asking are others like us, and they'll understand the explanation."

"So we're just gonna dispose of a body?!" Violet nearly screamed, eyes wide. "That's a capital felony!"

"So is kidnapping," Logan said, giving her a deadpanned look. "You want the story to get in the news so Danny could possibly see it?"

Violet had nothing to say to that, her mouth forming an angry line. "He says it's okay," Myrtle gurgled, looking up at Violet with milky eyes. "Slater no mind; he liked the woods anyways. Just sorry he couldn't keep Melinoe safe…"

"_Son of a bitch!_" Came a call from another room. Chad stumbled back into the entry foyer moments later, carrying a first aid kit as well as another wide-eyed expression. "There's a fucking dead maid in the hall closet."

"_Brilliant_!" Logan shouted, throwing his arms out. "Thank you Selene for making my life a living fucking hell!"

"Selene?" Violet asked, moving aside as Chad knelt down next to Myrtle. "As in the moon Goddess?"

"We need to move her out of the blood and get this gown off so I can see the wound better," Chad murmured.

"The exact one," Logan scowled, coming to do as Chad instructed. Together, he and Thaddeus lifted Myrtle off the ground who gave a groan of pain as they carried her into the sitting room, setting her on one of the couches. Violet stripped away Myrtle's nightgown, quickly taking off her own cardigan to cover Myrtle's naked chest. Marea rested her head next to Myrtle's, who called her a good "rabbit" and patted her snout weakly.

"Why would Selene do something like this? I didn't even know you knew her," Violet said, watching grimly as Chad cleaned off Myrtle's side with a pad soaked in peroxide. She whimpered and Thaddeus crossed the room to a cart holding alcohol by the window, grabbing a bottle of whiskey which he brought to Myrtle, taking the cap off. The old woman quickly took a few pulls, in-mind enough to know it would dull the pain.

"I'll probably need that to clean the wound better," Chad muttered, taking a needle and medical thread out of the first aid kit. "This thing's fully equipped _except_ for rubbing alcohol, which would work better for this than peroxide."

"Do you want to torture her?" asked Wyatt from where he stood at the edge of the couch with Violet. "That would hurt like a bitch."

"Not if we get her drunk enough first," murmured Thaddeus. "Can you wait long enough to stitch her up for that?" he asked Chad.

"Yes," Chad said, his earlier frustrations with the man seeming to have dissipated. "Better start chugging though, Myrtle. I wanna make sure you don't lose any more blood."

"Lila wants ta be buried under flowers," Myrtle said then, taking another pull from the bottle. "She likes flowers."

"Lila's the dead maid," Logan said for everyone's clarification. "She's a limoniad; as long as we give the body back to her community, we won't have to involve the police with it."

"But why would Selene _do this_?" Violet asked, renewing her question. The potted plants in the room seemed to be thrumming with the energy of her anxiety, some threatening to grow right out of the soil. "Why would she kill them?"

"It wasn't just Selene," Logan sighed. "It was her brother, Helios, too. And if they've found her, their sister, Eos."

"_Why_?" Violet repeated, looking worriedly at Myrtle. This had been her daughter in another life, after all. The thought of her dying seemed almost unbearable, all of a sudden.

"To get information," Logan said. "She said they'd be neutral in all of this, godsdamn it!" He kicked something again– Violet had the vague awareness it was a chair as it toppled over. There were also sparks fizzling in Logan's hand, threatening to set something on fire.

"When did you talk to her?" Violet asked, eyes dark as she looked at him. "What the _fuck_ is going on, Logan?"

"The last time I talked to her was right after I took you," Logan said, shaking his head. "She'd said that her and Helios would remain neutral in all of this, as they always have with fighting. _Unless_ something happened to directly affect them; then they would ally with those who want to release the Titans. They don't have much faith in the Olympians."

"What could have affected them then that they'd want information from you of all people?" Thaddeus asked, letting Myrtle hold his hand as she finally handed off the whiskey bottle to Chad, who poured in on the wound and winced when the older woman groaned. He quickly sterilized the needle with the alcohol and looped it with thread, beginning on the stitches with a murmur of _sorry_ over and over for each pained sound Myrtle made, Marea whimpering as if she were in pain right along with the older woman. "I mean, if they want that fucking Tartarus key, it's not like you have it. What else could they want to find out?"

"I don't know," Logan finally said in answer to Thaddeus' questions, gaze vacant. "Someone must have come to them, threatened them. I don't know how they possibly could've found the siblings though; even Hecate can't find them with any spell she tries; they're too ancient for such a thing. And if they were able to get through the wards on the house, then they've got some serious fucking magic on their side."

"But why _kill_ people?" Violet asked, anger swelling in her gut. A vase shattered somewhere in the room, daisies as large as her head falling on the floor, stems curling. "Why not just lock them up, like they did Marea?"

"It was easiest," Logan answered simply. "Marea must've warranted more trouble than the others, so they shut her up in the office. I'm willing to bet she bit one of them– probably Helios. The bastard never could take pain very well; always ran from a fight. How was Lila killed, Chad?"

"Knife to my throat," Myrtle answered before Chad could. "Dusting, dusting and then so very black."

Logan nodded. "Did Selene attack Slater, Myrtle?" The old woman nodded, back to herself and no longer minding Lila's words, attention on Logan. "You were in the sitting room and went to look…?"

"The rabbit was snarling and ran to the stairs after something that looked like a Shade but wasn't a Shade. Not a Shade… Then there was pain, my side _hurts_. Momma, it hurts. And I fell but they didn't kill me. Lila and Slater attacked the white-haired lady. Shades always keep Melinoe safe."

"Lucky ghosts like you so much," Wyatt murmured next to Violet, shaking his head in relief.

Violet sighed and ran a bloody hand through her hair, not much caring at the gore it would leave. "But what kind of information would they want from your computer?" she asked Logan wearily.

"I don't know," Logan said. "They wouldn't want anything to do with the business. The only thing I can think is– _fuck_."

"What?" asked four worried voices all at once.

"I have personal files for all of my siblings on it," he said, eyes widening. "They'll have their addresses now. And Wyatt's parents'. And…_yours_, Violet."

"_Mine_?" Violet asked, a sudden panic swelling in her chest. It felt so tight she thought maybe her heart was going to burst, had it not already ridden in her throat and was threatening to choke her with anxiety. "But that means that they could go to my house. They could– oh, _Gods_. They could get to Danny!"


	34. The Call

**A/N**: Warning: adult content and full display of my shitty writing skills ahead.

* * *

Violet hadn't ever been in Myrtle's room before. It was a stuffy place, with sloping ceilings made of wood like the floors and walls. There was one lone window on the back wall, a sort of octagon with a flower in a vase resting on its sill. Myrtle's bed was pressed against the wall, a grand, comfy thing. There was a nightstand with a lamp for her, and a few books piled on the floor. Other than that, there was no furniture here in the attic, and in the room below was simply a couch and bookcases and the bathroom Myrtle used as her own.

Violet hadn't even known the house _had_ an attic until now, but then again she hadn't known it had a basement either before finding those secret corridors behind the walls. So she guessed it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that this house had five levels, not three like she had originally thought.

She'd pulled a chair up to Myrtle's bedside the moment they'd brought the old woman up here, sitting there and holding Myrtle's hand as she'd slipped into sleep. Logan was downstairs making calls to Lila's people, while Thaddeus and Chad were out in the woods somewhere burying Slater's body.

_Burying a body,_ she thought to herself numbly. _I'd imagine they probably do this all the time, the way they acted so coolly about it. Who'd have thought?_

Wyatt was giving Marea a bath as per Violet's request. The dog reeked like death and blood, and the thought of having the poor thing remain that way made Violet shiver.

_How could they?_ she thought to herself again, the names Selene and Helios running around in her head. _How could they?_

She'd known that she'd been brought here in the apprehensions of war, but she hadn't really let that sink in until now. Not until she saw bloody bodies straight out of a horror movie. Two dead people, killed just like that because it was _easiest_ for Selene and Helios to be able to get around them that way.

And get Violet's address; get a hold of Danny.

She'd started crying the moment Logan had confirmed her fears of it. Hadn't stopped since, really. Even now there were hot streaks of tears on her cheeks. There'd been no sobbing, just anxiety in her throat and chest and belly. Yet she did nothing; sat with Myrtle and held the old woman's hand as she slept thanks to the sleeping pills Thaddeus had so graciously provided.

Just sat there with Myrtle while her friends were burying a body in the backyard and the Gods that did all of this could be killing her brother at the very moment.

The knock on the door startled her. She turned her head slowly at Logan's entrance. He came bearing his cellphone, holding it out to her. "Call Danny," he said, the first time he'd ever said such a thing. Even after she'd remembered Persephone, she still hadn't been allowed near a phone. Until now, until Logan was _telling_ her to use one for the exact purpose he'd kept her away from the device in the first place.

"Why?" she asked hoarsely, her mouth feeling dry.

"You need to know he's alright. No matter how much I assure you that I'll have people watch the house, you're not going to be okay until you hear his voice. Call Danny." Logan's eyes were stoic, as was the rest of him as he pressed the phone into her hand. "Star-sixty-five it."

Blinking, she simply did as told, typing in the familiar number with a hollow ache in her chest. One ring, two rings, three rings… "_Hello?_"

It was Albany.

"Albany?" Violet croaked, her throat feeling like there were shards of glass in it.

"_Violet?! Oh my god, Violet, what happened to you? Where are you? Are you okay? Are you coming home? Violet! Danny– Danny! It's Violet! It's _Violet_! Hurry!_"

"Albany, Albany," Violet said, trying to calm her friend. "I'm fine; I'm okay. I can't– it's really hard to explain. But I had to check and make sure you and Danny are okay?"

"_Of course we're okay. Are _you_ okay? Ow– Danny stop shov–_"

"_Violet?_"

The glass in her throat suddenly cultivated, scraping and cutting jagged lines so she felt as if she couldn't speak. "Hey, Danny."

He was alive. He was alive and safe and he sounded just the same as she remembered, voice cracked and adorable and she was really talking to her baby brother. _Her brother._ The boy she loved more than anything in this world and he was alright, he was okay.

"_Where are you?_"

"I can't tell you," Violet said, feeling like she was really going to start crying full out now. Logan was eyeing her wearily and she sniffed them away, not wanting him to see her cry anymore. "Danny, listen to me. You have to know– you have to know I would _never_ leave you if I didn't have to."

"_I know_," Danny said, and he sounded sure of that. She could hear Albany muffled in the background, asking to get the phone back, but Danny was shooing her off so she simply huffed and said she was going to listen in then. "_I thought– did someone _kidnap _you?_"

"Not exactly," Violet lied, avoiding Logan's gaze steadfastly. She knew he could probably hear Danny through the phone the same Albany could hear her; the room was quiet and the speaker's volume was loud. She hoped it didn't wake Myrtle. "I– Danny, you have to listen to me and you have to listen very carefully. I had to go because there are people in danger."

"_Danger? Like other people kidnapped?_"

"No," Violet said, shaking her head. "Like there are some very bad people that want to hurt some other people, and somehow, I can help stop it. I just…it's hard to explain. The reason I'm not with you right now, the _only_ reason is to keep you safe. That's why I haven't contacted you more; I didn't want anyone to look at you too much. I can't let you get in the middle of this."

"_Violet, I don't understand. What's going on? Really, seriously, is someone making you say these things?_"

"No," Violet said once more. "Danny, it's…the mob." She grimaced at her own lie, shook her head. Technically John had connections with people very much involved in such bad things, and since she knew John, it wasn't a full-out lie. And it was close enough to everything that was going on. And the best thing she could come up with.

Logan rose his eyebrows at her anyways, smirk appearing at the corners of his mouth. She tried not to let a blush overtake her, glaring at him and tossing her braid over her shoulder haughtily as she let Danny take in her words for a moment. For his part, Danny seemed to believe the information, if only a little. And Violet sighed in relief at that.

"They're trying to hurt some friends of mine. Friends I never told you about because _I_ didn't even know what they were involved with… I– I'm staying with one of them now."

"_In Hamden?_" Danny asked, making both Logan and Violet's eyes widen.

"What, _no_." Violet said quickly, her voice breaking. "Wherever I am, it doesn't matter anyways. Danny, you just…you need to be careful. You need to stay home and keep alert. If someone is following you, you get somewhere public, okay? Make sure the doors and windows at home are locked. Get some new ones, if you must. Is Aunt Karen there with you, yet?"

"_She just got into town yesterday. She thinks you ran off with a guy and eloped. I _told_ her that you wouldn't leave me because of something dumb like that._"

"Never," vowed Violet, hands shaking. She leant the phone between her ear and her shoulder so as it wouldn't slip to the floor. "But right now, it isn't safe for me to come home yet. And you _can't_ tell Aunt Karen what's going on, alright? Tell Albany, but make her swear it a secret."

There was a small murmur then, a pass back and forth between Danny and Albany. She'd heard snippets of what Violet and Danny had been saying, but seemed uncertain. Finally she asked for the phone; there was a scuffle and then her voice was on the other end, suspiciously sweet. "_The mob, honey? How do you expect me to believe you got involved with people like that?_"

"It's a long story," Violet sighed, shaking her head. "I mean, okay, I _was_ kind of kidnapped, originally. But it was _for_ my safety." That wasn't a total lie, at least. "For some reason I'm involved with all of this Albany; it's something I can help with."

"_How, exactly?_" asked Albany critically.

"I can help finish something started a long time ago," Violet said, tapping her foot anxiously. "That man– the one I met at the club. He, he knew my dad." Her teeth rang from the lies slipping past them. "Apparently, Dad was involved in some things he shouldn't have been, or something. I– I can help finish up what he left unfinished."

"_This sounds like a fucking Michael Bay movie or something,_" Albany said suddenly, and Violet could hear the roll of her friend's eyes in her voice. "_Seriously. You want me to believe you're okay with being kidnapped and taken away from Danny, and that everything is peachy keen?_"

"Everything is _not_ peachy keen, Albany," Violet said, bitterness coating her words. "Danny isn't safe anymore. Neither are you. That guy, _Logan_, he's got people watching the house to make sure no one comes after you, but people are _dying_ Albany, and I'll be damned if I let things keep going this way."

"_Why haven't the cops been called?_" Albany asked, a hitch in her tone. "_This all sounds sketchy as shit, Violet._"

"Cops aren't always the good guys, Albany," Violet said. _Not when they're going against a bunch of fallen, blood-thirsty Gods anyways,_ she added mentally. "Do good to remember that. I mean, did they even bother to look for me after I left?"

"_There was a note and you'd packed a bag and your mom didn't attest to you not leaving willingly… It all seemed pretty convincing, Vi. We knew how much stress you were under, especially with the cutting… Wanting to get away for a bit was understandable._"

"But leaving without notice, just up and leaving _Danny_," Violet snorted.

"_Are you really in Hamden?_" Albany asked suddenly. "_Danny and I, we came there to look. We saw this guy– Danny said he'd seen him the day you'd disappeared. Big brute kind of guy…_"

Violet's eyes widened. Was she talking about Thaddeus? Looking for confirmation, she turned her gaze to Logan. He nodded, seeming unsettled by all the information being released in the current conversation. "He talked to Danny the day we took you. Something about breaking up a drug ring…" Violet remembered Danny's story of the man who'd stopped him and his friends from getting high that day; the look in Danny's eyes had been one of terror and now she understood why. Thaddeus could be highly intimidating when he wanted to.

"_Who's there with you?_" was Albany's next question, having caught Logan's voice over the receiver. "_Is it _that guy_?_"

"Yeah," Violet swallowed. "Listen, Albany, I don't have much more time. Some really bad shit just happened here, and I need to…I have to take care of it."

"_Oh no, no, _no_, let me talk to that guy! I want some answers right from the psychopathic horse's mouth, damn it. You can't just call and spring this kind of shit on us Violet, and then not let me talk to him._"

Violet glanced at Logan, who sighed wearily and held out his hand for the phone. She gave it to him with hesitation and Logan pressed it to his ear, clearing his throat before asking, "Albany, I presume?"

"_You presume right, buster. Just what the _fuck_ are you doing with my best friend? I swear to God if you hurt her–_"

"I would _never_ do such a thing," Logan interrupted, and Violet's eyes flashed, because he _had_ hurt her. Not physically, but finding out all the lies had hurt a lot, actually. He seemed to notice her pained expression and his own fell, eyes dancing away guiltily as he continued on. "I was just trying to keep Violet safe, Albany. Her…_fathe_r didn't exactly have time to get his affairs in order before his passing, and it's left a considerable stain on the family."

"_But why kidnap her?_"

"It was the best way to get her out of the situation. If not I, then some far more unseemly people may have gotten to her first. And I assure you, while I have nothing but the utmost respect for Violet and wish nothing more than to keep her safe, they wouldn't."

Violet paled at his words then, remembering just how gaping Slater's throat had been, the blood sticky-tack as it coated her hands while she tried to keep Myrtle's wound from bleeding out any more than it already had. That poor dead girl in the closet, cut down when she was just here to make a living. Marea, whimpering and whining as Myrtle lie writhing in pain on the sofa while Chad stitched her up, blood in her mouth and her fur smelling of death.

"_Then why did they never come after Danny?_"

"I made sure that the house is well looked after. And they mostly want Violet, anyways. They think, because of her age, she knows about the things they wanted to find out from her father. She's their main concern in this; they'll only go after Danny to get to her, and I've made sure that they cannot get to him. Even so, you need to be alert."

"_But I– why can't we see Violet?_"

"_Yeah?!_" Danny yelled in the background, making Logan pull the phone away from his ear and blink, startled at the loud, intrusive sound.

"It's not a safe idea, right now," Logan said, glancing over to Violet cautiously. She felt glum; hearing Danny's voice had been absolutely wonderful, but it wasn't enough, not really. How she longed to hug her baby brother and tell him how sorry she was for having left in person. "In a while, it may be though… Come winter, we'll see how things unfold."

"_Winter?!_" cried both Albany and Danny at the same time, then it was Albany's voice alone as she said, "_Listen, buster, this isn't some Hades and Persephone kind of story._" At that comment, Logan could barely suppress a laugh, as could Violet. The irony of Albany's words was definitely not lost."_You can't just keep Violet away from her little brother like this. He's been worried sick the past two months. And I fucking miss her too, which means I hate you for making me miss her. I can be very unpleasant to those I hate._"

"I understand your concerns, Albany," said Logan, shifting from foot to foot irately. "But I regret to say I just cannot allow Violet out of my presence, or you and Danny into it for now. It is my sincere hope to keep the two of you out of the spotlight. I already regret most fervently bringing Violet into it."

"_You talk like a real gentleman, for being a psychopathic kidnapping mobster jackass,_" Albany snorted, and Violet had to laugh at that, ignoring Logan's glare at the insult. Had Violet herself not called him a psychopath in the beginning? She laughed even harder, choking as the sound abruptly tried to turn to panicked tears. "_Whatever. Just…put Violet back on the phone so me and Danny can say goodbye. _For now_. Don't think we'll give up on her._"

"Of course not," said Logan. "Here, I am giving Violet the phone back now."

He did as said, handing it to Violet gingerly who took it with a soft smile in his direction as thanks before pressing the receiver to her ear. "I'm so sorry, Albany."

"_Whatever,_" her friend sighed, seeming suddenly tired beyond her years. "_You owe me big for this, Violet Porter. Fucking big._"

"I know," Violet said. "Trust me, I know."

"_You'd better get back here fucking alive,_" Albany said by way of goodbye.

"I love you too," chuckled Violet, and she could hear the small start of a sob in her friend's throat, before there was static as the phone was passed off.

"_So you're really not coming home?_" Danny asked.

"Not for a while, Danny," Violet said, and this time she didn't stop the tears from flowing. There was too much guilt inside of her. She couldn't handle it without at least crying a little. And suddenly, Logan was by her side. He was tentative about touching her, but she leaned into his embrace nonetheless and he put an arm around her shoulders, letting her rest her head in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry Danny. You have to believe me that I never would have left if I didn't have to. Never ever. I would _never_ leave you."

"_I know,_" Danny said, sniffling. She bit her lip to keep a sob from coming out at that. Making her baby brother cry had always been the thing she'd hated most in the world. "_I just miss you so much, Vi._"

"I miss you, too," she whispered. "But I'm going to come back. And until then, you've got to be careful, okay? Keep watch. Don't bug Aunt Karen too much. Eat your vegetables. Keep up on your homework; clean your room. Use deodorant. Pass your science class this semester, so next summer we can go to Disneyworld or something."

"_Bribing me with the Mouse. Nice,_" Danny drawled, and Violet couldn't help but laugh, the sound quickly turning into a sob she stifled with her hand. Logan's grip around her tightened. "_I love you, Vi._"

"I love you too, Danny," she said. "And I'll be back before you know it. I just…I have to keep you safe."

"_I'll see you soon?_" Danny said hopefully, his voice betraying that he was crying just as much as her.

"Yeah," Violet said, her entire body shaking now with uncontained guilt. "See you soon."

The disconnect was what finally broke her then, and she turned in Logan's embrace wracked with cries, soaking his shirt through quickly. He held tight, rubbing hands through her hair and down her back and cooing to her in soft tones that everything was going to be alright.

"It's not alright," she whined, hiccupping from crying so hard and not being able to suck down enough air. "Nothing about this is alright. It never has been. You, me, we've never been _alright_. Never."

"I'm sorry Violet," Logan murmured, lips pressed to the top of her head. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"Yeah," she said, laughing against his chest almost madly. "It is your fault. But it's just as much mine. If I'd just…_remembered_, sooner, maybe I could've stopped all of this from happening."

"This is _not_ your fault," Logan said, pulling back from her then. His eyes were shining with vigor, willing her to believe his words. "Even if you'd remembered from birth, it wouldn't have stopped those bastards from wanting to set the Titans loose. I should have– I should have done this better. I should've helped you remember, trusted you'd want to help. But I was selfish.

"I wanted your divinity. I knew I'd be stronger with you because of the ties we had in the past. I– _Hades_ gave Persephone part of his power when he proclaimed her Queen. Most Gods don't share divinity like that, but he felt it was right. Especially after he'd stolen her from the world. I knew that with you by my side, I'd be a lot stronger for this war. And all I could selfishly think was that if these bastards do let the Titans out, I want to end Kronus for good this time.

"I've never stopped hating my father, and I want to do what I couldn't the last time and wipe his existence from the planet. I thought with your power aiding me, it'd be possible. But now I can see that you're so much _more_ Violet. You're so much stronger than I could have thought, and I _need_ you. Not for your power, not anymore. I need you because…just _because_. I need you, and I've hurt you, and I'll never forgive myself for that," he said, voice having dropped to a whisper by the end of it all.

The intensity in his eyes as he stared at her then felt as if it would burn her. All of her insides felt like they'd been broken to bits. She was tired, and she was afraid, and she was sad. Sad for the life she'd lost centuries ago, and the one she'd lost the moment she'd met this man before her, with his shining dark gaze and actions and words that never made sense, always contradicting.

There was guilt in her chest for all the pain she'd cause everyone she knew, from Danny to even Fawn. And she couldn't stand it; couldn't stand the overload of painful emotion and she just wanted it to all go away. It had to go away.

With a small whimper on a whim, she leaned forwards and pressed her mouth to his insistently, gasping when he met her with equal desperation, fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her closer. He wasted no time in pulling her down off the chair she sat in, falling into his lap with a startled cry. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, murmuring _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ against her mouth.

She clutched at him greedily, needing the heat of his body to block out the ache in her own. He was warm where she felt cold, and he was solid, _real_. All of these feelings inside of her weren't tangible, nothing she could grasp onto. Just waves of emotion threatening to drown her. Logan was something she could hold, something she could pour her frustration into with lips and teeth and tongue.

Before she could help herself she was moaning, yanking tightly at his hair as he groaned and grabbed at her, hands leaving bruises in her skin as they had the night before. The pain was exactly what she wanted, enough to make her grind down into his lap insistently. This seemed to spur Logan on even further, meeting her unsteady rhythm feverishly. She writhed against him, seeking a sort of friction she didn't even know she needed.

He grunted, spilling them onto the floor in a sudden tumble. She hit it _hard_, the wood digging into her shoulder blades and making a whimper escape her chest, his lips leaving hers to lay hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, teeth worrying at the mark he'd made on her shoulder the night before. She bucked her hips against his, breath harsh and not really having any idea what she was doing but just knowing this was making all her thoughts go away.

There wasn't guilt any longer, just a frantic sort of pained pleasure and she wanted more of it. She wanted him to _fuck_ her, and make it all go away for good.

She said as much without thinking about it. "Make it go away," she panted to him between sloppy presses of their mouths, his hips rocking into hers. "Make it go away, Logan."

"I will, baby," he said, an endearment he'd never used before. "I promise, I will."

Their motions became even more frantic, his hands pulling at the straps of her dress, palming her breasts. When the fabric wouldn't give way he growled, lifting her skirt up to her waist and reaching down to unfasten his belt. She felt electric sharp, hazy in her movements of trying to help him, tugging at the fly of his jeans insistently. She got her hand into his boxers in the next second, grabbing at his erection in a harsh claw of manner.

He hissed, kissed her sloppily and possessively and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from touching him, grabbing the other to hold them above her head in one of his own hands' grip. She grumbled, cursed at him before the words turned to a moan as he cupped her through her underwear, palm hot and pressing just where she wanted it.

"_Please_," she begged. _Make it go away; take the thoughts away. I hurt I hurt I hurt make it stop, please make it stop._

"Fuck, I want you so much, Violet," he said, nipping at her mouth. She keened in the back of her throat, getting her knees up at his hips and trying to push his jeans off with her feet. It worked considerably well, for how badly she was shaking. "I want _all_ of you," Logan said then, breath coming up short. "And you won't give me a single shred."

She didn't know what he was talking about, didn't understand.

"Fuck me," she said anyways, mouth hot against his cheek, teeth digging into the skin below his ear. He shuddered. "Take everything you want."

He murmured something she didn't hear then, too overcome by sensation as his hips pushed into hers, their underwear the only thin barrier separating them. She could feel him hot and hard and straining against her, and she felt so aching and empty between her thighs, just as she did everywhere else, that she needed him inside of her. Needed to fill the void in any way she could; blood or cum it didn't matter she needed something to take this all away, all of these obtuse memories like fractions that didn't reduce down quite right. She'd always been a cynosure of numbers, easy things to control. Put them together like puzzle pieces and they evened out, divide them by twos and threes and fives and tens, keep an exact count.

She couldn't add, subtract, multiply, divide any of this. None of these emotions were under her command, they just pushed and pushed until she couldn't take it, wanted to scream.

She whimpered as much, bit into Logan's shoulder as he groaned, taking his erection out of his boxers, trying to push her underwear aside so he could press himself against her.

They were going to fuck right there on the attic floor and she wanted– _needed_ it more than anything she ever had before.

"Are you sure?" he asked, rutting against the wetness between her legs. She mewled, trying to struggle and get him to let go of her wrists, let her touch him.

"_Yes_," she whined. "_Yes._"

"Well, I'm not."

Both she and Logan froze then, blinking at each other in a lustful haze before turning their gazes towards Myrtle's bed, where the old woman lay on her uninjured side staring at them. For the first time since Violet had met her, Myrtle's eyes seemed completely clear. They didn't hold their usual glassy tint like she was lost to another world, but completely sane and here and competent.

"How long have you been awake?" Violet asked then, the heat in her cheeks so unbearable it hurt.

Neither her nor Logan had moved from their precarious position on the floor, and Myrtle was smirking. "Long enough, _Mom_," Myrtle said, making Violet shut her eyes as the flush on her body grew in deeper embarrassment. "Now if you kids wouldn't mind, I am trying to sleep. I give you all the permission you like to fornicate in your own rooms, but I'd rather you not in mine."

It was then that both Logan and Violet were spurred into action. He let go of her wrists and quickly got off of her, pulling his boxers and pants up with practiced speed. Violet adjusted the straps of her dress to cover her nearly bare chest, shifting uncomfortably at the lingering ache between her legs. Logan already had his belt buckled and was offering her a hand when she had decided to stand, neither one of them able to look at each other, or Myrtle for that matter.

"Don't be embarrassed," said the old woman with a deep chuckle. "I used to catch you all the time, back in the Underworld. One time Macaria was with me and asked what you were doing. She lied when she said you were the first one to try and give her the birds and bees speech, _Dad_."

Logan looked very uncomfortable at the admission, picking his phone up from where it'd fallen on the floor and stuffing it in the pocket of his pants, shifting to try and hide his still half-apparent arousal showing through the denim. Violet wrapped her arms around herself protectively, trying to swallow down the humiliation in her throat. _Well,_ she thought, _at least the guilt is gone._

But truly, it wasn't. Because even after she and Logan left Myrtle in peace to sleep off the rest of her lingering pain, Logan having dropped Violet off at her bedroom door and trying to give her a chaste kiss goodbye– she turned so his lips skimmed her cheek; tried to ignore his pained expression at the gesture– she ended up laying in her bed staring up at the canopy, new tears in her eyes.

Marea had joined her by now, whining and cuddling into Violet's side as she cried quietly, even though she'd been sure there was nothing left in her body after the last breakdown.

She cried for Danny. She cried for a life lost long ago. She cried for Albany and her mother and her father and for Logan and Myrtle and Evangeline and Thaddeus and Wyatt and Chad and those poor dead people, lost before their time because of some cowardly Gods that would rather slit throats in the dark than face the enemy head-on.

It felt like centuries before she finally exhausted herself to sleep, and that night Violet dreamed of slit throats and inky blood, of Danny screaming and Logan laughing with Shades at his side, the moon smiling down at her with sharp teeth.


	35. The Passion of Mazes

**A/N**: Hey everyone, I know it's been forever since I updated, and I wanted to apologize for that. I haven't given up on this story, not at all. It's just that I have a good bout of writer's block at the moment, on top of a lot of irl stuff (college blek don't get me started man) and haven't been able to work on my fics as much as before. As of right now, I am thinking of scrapping a lot of _this_ fic in particular, as it is simply a rough draft and there is a lot more I wish to do with it in the grand scheme of things, especially since it's official that this _will_ be a **_series_**, not just a one-part thing. Expect random updates from here, and a lot of editing along the way. I may even start a separate story outlet for the edited version, what do you all think? I hope you stick with me though, because I appreciate you all so much (and am trying to get to the messages in my pm box I'm just slop for writing anything rn and staying focused on it thoug apologize for that too), but I also love this fic enough to realize it isn't up to the levels I know it can reach and want to take it there. Thank you for all your patience and support, though, especially in having to deal with this long-ass author's note.

Also, I know this chapter is very short and may seem /pointless/ and jagged to the timeline, but in the end it does have its point, just as everything else, I promise. Oh, and it gets a bit adult content-y towards the end, but hardly much at all, really, tbh. Thanks again to everyone who's hung in there, really truly thank you.

* * *

He'd never pinned Dino as the marriage type.

But sitting here in a lavish home with a beautiful woman pouring him fine wine, Michael had to admit it all painted a pretty picture. Less than three days ago, Michael had landed in Istanbul. It was surreal to be back in the Middle East. The last time he'd been here it'd been with a gun and the label of 'jarhead'. Of course that'd been Iraq, and not Turkey. Turkey was different, and he was sitting in the lap of luxury. A tourist grand while Dino sat waiting for a call from his infamous associates, meeting for Michael's questions to be answered yet to be set.

"So what did you do before all of this, Mr. Halefire?" asked the woman at the head of the table, balancing her wine glass precariously between slim fingers. Over the days he had gotten so used to her, so used to her constant quiet and leer that it still daunted him they hadn't known each other long before Dino had introduced them when convincing Michael to stay as a guest at his home.

"I was a soldier," Michael said honestly, blinking away the spice on his tongue. Dino liked kick to his food, and though he'd been called away to _finally _set up the meeting between Michael and his associates, the man's wife had made sure the meal still fit Dino's tastes.

Mrs. Bacchus smiled suddenly, a mocking sort of smile all peach lips and no teeth. She was a beautiful woman, a beautiful tortured woman who put on a happy face and didn't let a single blonde hair stray out of place. She was from Israel, accent so prominent Michael had to strain ear to make out her words. Entirely too young a girl for Dino, too. The man was nearly sixty, whereas his wife could be more than thirty-three. She flared with radiance and old charm, a timeless sort of sadness.

"Here's to you then, my soldier," she said, raising her glass in false gratitude. "There can never be enough war in the world." She took a sip, dainty and practiced before setting the glass down next to her plate. She hadn't touched her food yet, whereas Michael was on seconds as far as side dishes. The main coure, some kind of roasted lamb, burnt his throat too much to really give it an honest go. "Tell me, how many men did you kill? Women and children included. We are but property to them, after all."

"You can't honestly mean that," Michael said before thinking better of the comment.

Mrs. Bacchus quirked a shaped brow. Over the days he had watched how subservient she was to her husband, always agreeing always giving false love. He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her; she deserved better than to waste her life being known as some rich, dangerous man's wife, rather than the woman she was underneath. "Oh, but I do, Mr. Halefire. It's what I've been lead to believe in my lives, anyways."

"Live_s_?" he questioned, but she left the table before he could further comment, stopping only to take his finished dinner plate back into the kitchen with her.

Her evening dress swayed behind her, a lithe frame gouged by melancholy. Mrs. Bacchus was the mirrored image of her house. Glamorous, refined, _hollow_. The furnishings of the mansion were sparse, modern with hard angles and prickly demeanor. Everything came in pale shades, like Mrs. Bacchus' light blonde hair and white skin. It wore fancy bauble, the jewels around her neck on the tables and bookshelves in varying sizes. The lights were always dimmed and everything smelled of lavender and regret.

"You'll have to understand, Mr. Halefire," she said, suddenly reappearing carrying two bowls in hand, something delicious and bloody red inside them. "I love my husband." She sat one dish in front of Michael, hair wisping onto his shoulder in lavender caress. He took his eyes away from her hand, to the bowl filled with a small cake covered in strawberry sauce. "I do." When she stepped away from him, she let her hand graze up his arm, manicured nails digging into his bicep with crescent warning. They'd been dancing back and forth like this for two days now and he didn't have the restraint to stop it, not when she looked like such a lonely, empty woman. "But, I suppose one can't help who they fall in love with, can they?"

Michael looked up at her then, ready to ask what all of this swaying was about, what she meant, but she was giving him this _look_. This look like she knew a secret, one he was dying to get in on. He'd come here for a reason after all, and when Dino Bacchus came back through that polished front door, Michael would have his explanation. All of this would be figured out.

But the way Mrs. Bacchus was gazing at him, he wanted to hear it from _her_. She was truly such a beautiful woman, eyes like passionate mazes you could never figure your way out of. "No, you can't," Michael found himself saying, half-tense under her palm.

She smiled then, a smile with sharp teeth as she slinked away, taking her bowl of gore back to the head of the table with her. With a little laugh, she stabbed a forkful and bit into it, licking strawberry sauce off her lips. Michael did the same, trying not to make a sound at how delicious the desert was even though he wanted to moan from the taste of it.

"I know how you got involved with my husband," she said after a moment, eyes never leaving the lace tablecloth. "I do not judge you for what he asks of you. I save you the pity as well."

He shifted uncomfortably at the comment. Though she wasn't looking at him, Michael could still feel the weight of her stare. "Thank you?"

"Tell me, have you ever been married, Mr. Halefire?"

"No, can't say I have," Michael shrugged, his bowl of dessert already finished. Without it, he was left to more wine. He'd never particularly liked the stuff– too bitterly sweet , too long to get drunk from it. He much preferred whiskey. "Can't say I'm disappointed with that, either."

"But thirty-six and no wife, no children. You must feel so unaccomplished," said Mrs. Bacchus, the mock grin back in place.

"Do you and Mr. Bacchus have children?" Michael retorted. It was even more an unbelievable notion that Dino had children than that he was married.

"Sort of," amended Mrs. Bacchus. "We have Pan on weekends."

"Stepchild?" Michael asked.

"Sort of," she said again.

It was quiet for another few minutes then, before Mrs. Bacchus collected their desert bowls and once more slipped into the kitchen. The sound of running water was heard, but not a single dish clinked. No glass, no porcelain. Was everything made of ivory, of steel? _You shouldn't throw stones when you live in glass houses, Michael,_ his mother had once told him, long ago before she ended up dead on the side of the road, brains splattered on the dashboard and the bastard that hit her car making off with just a scratch.

When she came back, Mrs. Bacchus showed no sign of having tampered with dishes. She looked as pristine as ever, shiny skin and flaxen hair as she came to rest on the edge of the table at Michael's side. It took everything in him not to ogle her, the wine having gone straight to his head and making such a task difficult. He hadn't had a woman in a long time, even after Dino had freed him from the keep. The mood hadn't been there– he was too busy breathing in the fresh air.

But with Mrs. Bacchus, it was different. He felt that same _pull_ in her he had felt with Violet the other night, calling to him. And clearly, she was offering by the way she leaned forwards, smiled with sharp teeth and said, "Dino won't be home for another few hours. Business always takes _so_ long with those associates of his…"

Her mouth tasted like strawberries and bitter remorse, which was the thing that made him break away at first. "I owe your husband too much for this, Mrs. Bacchus."

"Helen," she whispered. "Please, it's been so long since someone has called me that."

"I thought Dino said your name is Ariadne," Michael murmured, confusion apparent as her fingers twisted in his shirt.

"Exactly," she said, and kissed him once more.

* * *

He'd forgotten how nice sex could be, how soft a woman was to touch.

How soft _Helen_ was to touch.

She laid sprawled out next to him in bed when all was said and done, the sacred place where she and Dino slept at night. Pale limbs, swollen lips, blissed expression which he'd yet to see upon her face. Michael liked her this way. He liked her _happy_.

Yet he couldn't help but think about how he had never been with a married woman before, much less one whose husband owned his sorry ass. "You and I are alike in that," she said, tracing the planes of his chest. "Dino owns us both."

"Why do you stay with him?" Michael said, taking a fistful of her hair and letting it curl around his fingers. He had tried to be gentle with her, in the beginning. But she had shoved him off and left claw marks down his back and only moaned when he'd bit her lip, grabbed at her hard. '_He always treats me like I am fragile, Michael. Don't you start too– I won't break._' "Why don't you run away?"

"One can't help who they fall in love with, Michael," she repeated, the same words from dinner before he'd ever even asked. "I owe him everything."

"I owe him a good lot myself," Michael frowned. "But here I am, making love to his wife."

"If only you remembered who you are, Michael. You would not see this as a bad thing."

Michael quirked a brow, wrinkled his nose as he got a whiff of Dino's cologne on the sheets. It was entirely too strong and too Italian and too much like wine. Not the sweet lavender scent of Helen. "Christ, not you too. Everyone's going insane, I swear to God."

"_Gods_," she corrected him. "God is a flawed concept. _Gods_ is more correct."

A quirk of a brow turned to a blink of the eyes. He stroked the wrinkle between hers to ground himself, trying to make the harsh look of it leave her face. "You should run away, Helen. Get out while you can. You're too good for him."

"Oh, Michael," she laughed, a tinkling sound. "You hardly even know me, how could you possible think something like that?"

"Because you're innocent," Michael said, holding fast to her as she began to curl her doe limbs away in shock. He was sure that she wasn't much used to people seeing her for what she truly was. "You're innocent and he's a vile man. _I'm_ a vile man. You need a new pattern."

"And if I don't want one?"

"You should."

"But I won't," she said, finally breaking free of his grasp to move to the edge of the bed and stretch her limbs, bones peeking through the blades of her shoulders like wings, wishing so much to fly away. She stood to walk to the black wooden dresser across the room, getting a new pair of panties from the top drawer. They'd certainly ruined her other ones for good, between how wet he'd made her on their sloppy-kissed way to the bedroom and how hastily she'd ripped them off in her frenzy to have him inside of her once they'd made it to the bed. "You'd better get dressed. Dino will be home soon."

"Will he kill me if he saw us together?" Michael asked, in no hurry as he lounged back against the headboard, wishing more than anything for a cigarette right now. Call him cliché, but he always liked to smoke after good sex, especially good sex with someone as alluring as Helen.

She turned to look at him over her winged shoulder as she retrieved her dress from where it had been thrown to the floor, sliding it on effortlessly, lips quirking. "No. He'd never hurt his brother. You guys always were good with sharing."


	36. The Burn of Hellfire

**A/N**: At the very helpful piece of advice from the wonderful Kata Chthonia I have decided to continue forth with this story, editing aside until the end. There are only a handful of chapters left before this story is finished in the first place, so even though they may not be the greatest written pieces on earth– choppy, I guess will be the best word– I'm going to finish this story out before editing it. I ask you all to stick with me through the wild ride the last part of this fic will be put through, and thank you again for all your support!

(Also, I know there are now two characters in the story named "Helen" but, I figure, same names happen a lot in real life, so why not in books? If it ever gets confusing, let me know!)

* * *

This wasn't working, not at all.

Violet bit her lip, spun her body away from her attacker and tried with everything in her to do something, _anything_ that would protect her. She felt the familiar tingle, the pull, but nothing happened. The earth was left bare of life and she fell on her back with a shriek, heavy weight upon her and a hand at her throat, squeezing softly.

"You're dead, Violet. _Again_."

"I know," she said. Once, she had all but growled the admission. By now she was too tired for the rancor. She just wanted to go inside and sleep.

It'd been more than a week since she had called Danny. Wyatt had gone back to school this morning. She didn't talk to anyone else. Evangeline hadn't come home yet and the idea of facing Logan after that little stunt she'd pulled with him in selfish need last Saturday night was unbearable. She didn't know what she felt for him anymore. What feelings were her own, what feelings were Persephone's, what feelings were guilt. She was still sore he'd lied to her; still sore from the hurt Danny and Albany's voices had left and from the death all around them in the house.

The funeral for the dryad nymph, Lila, had been yesterday. Logan had arranged for everything– he _did_ own a funeral shipping business after all– though they hadn't attended the procession to pay their respects. It'd been the same for the dead satyrian man, Slater. Luckily, Myrtle was still pulling through. She griped every time Chad went to change her bandages, but other than that she was fine, knitting in her room and making Chad fix her tea three times over because it was '_too hot_' or there '_wasn't enough lemon_' just for source of entertainment.

Since the deaths, Thaddeus had been adamant to step up Violet's self-defense training. He no longer wished for physical strength, but flowers and vines and thorns. Nearly a week of trying to protect herself and nothing had happened for Violet so far. It felt as if that day in the forest with those cacodemons and lelaps had been a fluke. Not even leaves perked up for her anymore. If anything they wilted, browned, died in the fragile interim of summer and fall.

"You need to perk up, queeny," Thaddeus kept telling her. "Your powers are never gonna work if the only emotion you feel is mopy. They're tied to your soul, and a sad soul just doesn't get results."

Violet never made comment to how easy that all sounded, but how hard is actually was to do. How could she simply 'perk up' when she'd lied to her brother and he was still alone, when two people had been killed and she'd laid a hand in the reason their lives had ended? How could she perk up when she didn't even know who she was anymore– Violet Porter or Persephone or a girl without a name?

Seeing Logan didn't help with anything. He treated her like a glass flower, made excuses to leave whenever they were alone together in a room for too long. She reasoned that was best. Things were too complicated right now to let a thing like a crush affect them so much. _But it's more than a crush,_ her mind tried to say, tried to reason. She ignored it; she ignored most of her thoughts these days.

It was only training she let herself think about, basic reflex of wake, eat, sleep, do it all over again. Every other moment was spent in a certain kind of addicting sadness. She didn't even really think about _why_ she was sad except when Thaddeus told her to. That hollow feeling in her chest was just _there_ and she tried nothing to make it go away. Sometimes it was better to feel woefully numb than full of fear, full of guilt.

With a twitch, she had Thaddeus rolled off of her and was sitting up, grass stains on her neck. "I think we should stop for the day," Thaddeus said, sensing the utter lack of hope in her. "Why don't you go and get some lunch? I think Chad is cooking papoustakia."

"Okay," Violet said, no complaint, no resistance. She was too tired for it. Refusal and stubbornness required effort, and effort she had none. Instead she ate, kept it down, let go of the control. What was the point? She didn't even have the energy to cut herself anymore. Just laid on the edge of her bed with Marea at her side, staring out the window in blank expression.

A part of her knew she had to stop this, she had to be strong because a Goddess didn't act so pettily. But she _wasn't_ a Goddess. She had been, but not anymore.

Sighing, she let Thaddeus help her off the ground and walked to the kitchen, brushing the dirt from the back of her jeans. She ate lunch with Chad, didn't say a word. During her time at the Fairgrave house she'd gotten used to the spices of Greek cuisine, the rich taste on her tongue.

Chad was as apt to silence a she these days, only being outwardly spoken when he voiced Myrtle's complaints. It was not like his usual bubbly self at all. She wanted to know what was wrong, wanted to try and help, but she didn't see the point. What could she say? _Things will get better._ She didn't even believe the words herself, so how could she convince Chad of them?

And besides, they were in the middle of a war older than time that involved _Gods_ for Christ's sake. There was nowhere to go but down from here.

"It's supposed to rain later," Chad commented, scooping up the last of his Béchamel sauce with a spoon.

"Oh? It's about time…we've had this drought forever."

"Yeah," Chad said softly, staring out at the backyard where Thaddeus was cleaning up the mess he and Violet had made when she'd kicked him into some lawn chairs earlier. "Some drought. _Ja_."

She went up to her room to read after that. A regular book by Salinger. No more journals of the Gods; she didn't feel like thinking about all of that right now.

It was only when Wyatt came home from school that she realized she hadn't even read three pages before nodding off, dreamless sleep with a crick in her neck as the front door slammed shut, waking her. Marea roused lazily from the end of the bed, stretching with a puppy yawn as she rolled over and went back to sleep, even as Violet got up to go and greet Wyatt.

When she came to stand at the bottom of the steps in the entry foyer, it was to find Wyatt toeing off the new sneakers Evangeline had picked out for him; backpack clutched tightly in hand, car keys in the other before he threw them on one of the hooks by the door. He looked tired, bored.

"How was school?" she asked, which startled him.

He whirled on her with a feminine chirp. "Jesus, Vi! Could you make a little more noise when ya walk next time?" he asked, blush forming on his cheeks as he rubbed nervously at the back of his head.

"Sorry," she said, crossing her arms over grass stained chest. "You make any friends?"

"This gal named Christa in my Lit class was pretty nice," he shrugged. "How was your day?"

"Okay," she lied, walking up to him and taking his backpack despite protest. All she did with it was throw it next to the stairs anyways, taking Wyatt's hand and leading him through the halls, out the back doors of the kitchen and towards the garden to soak up some sun before it began to rain like Chad had warned. "Still no dice with the divinity stuff."

"I can offer you some Adderall if you think it'll lift your spirits," Wyatt said, feet squishing in the grass and turning his tube socks green. He didn't seem to mind, and Violet loved the bare tickle of life under her feet too much for shoes. "I mean, if anything it'll make your concentration spike by eighty percent."

"I'm not gonna take your pills, Wyatt," Violet said with a playful roll of her eyes as they reached the edge of the garden, sat down on a stone bench by the fountain in the middle of the area.

"The option's always open," he quipped.

Violet gave him a small smile, shook her head with a playful shove to his shoulder. Over the weeks physical contact had become more common to her. Once she hadn't been keen on affection expressed through touch, but now it was a reflex. Wyatt had gotten her used to it, as had Thaddeus with his consoling pats to the shoulder, Chad with his good-mood hugs, Evangeline with combing her hair and drawing baths, Logan with his kisses and fervent caresses, like the other night…

"What's it like?" Wyatt asked suddenly, catching her off guard.

But Violet was thankful for the sudden distraction from confusing, hazy thoughts, despite the flush to her skin being caught daydreaming had caused. "What's what like?" she asked, quirked a brow and tugged at the sleeves of her thermal. It was becoming threadbare by now, with how often she'd washed it. Soon she'd have to cave and wear all of the nice, new clothes in her wardrobe that Logan had gotten for it.

Her nose wrinkled.

"Remembering another life," Wyatt said, dark eyes curious and almost sad. "I only get one set of memories, but you have two. And Uncle F., well, he has a lot more. It just seems so…"

"_Befuddling_," Violet offered, because that was how it felt to her. It was like two souls in one body, clawing at each other over who'd have reign of the brain's memories that day. You were yourself and yet you strangely weren't– how many of your thoughts were your own and not just a replay of your life before? Were your feelings even real, or simply stagnant memory on a broken loop? Did you love him, did he love you?

_He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves Persephone._

"No," Wyatt said, seeming shocked by Violet's statement. "I was gonna say it seems so…_nice_. What I wouldn't give to have happier memories, feel like I could be someone else if I tried."

"You can't be someone else though, Wyatt," Violet said, no hesitation because she knew the words to be true. "You can _feel_ like you're them, but you aren't. I mean, you have their thoughts, their memories, but you're still _you_, whoever you is… I just, I really don't feel like Persephone."

_I'm not strong enough to be a Goddess, not anymore._

"Then why are you so worried that what you feel for Logan and what he feels for you isn't real?"

Her body gave a literal jolt, Wyatt's words slamming into her nerves like a white-hot dagger. (_Blood all over, momma's gone they're all gone keep the children out hurts it hurts, hurts, hurts blood everywhere._) Blinking, Violet looked off to the side, where a bush of once dead roses had suddenly bloomed back to life, their scent heady in the air.

"It's like you're trying to talk yourself out of it, Vi. Are you afraid of getting hurt or something?"

"Why are _you_ asking me this?" she whispered, voice soft though she wanted malice. It wouldn't come though, her head still swimming in cotton candy thought. "I thought that you didn't want Logan and me to be together?"

"I'm not gonna lie and say I'm not jealous," Wyatt shrugged. "But I also care too much about ya' to watch you stay in this rut. I mean, I know it's about more than just romantic stuff, but that's one problem you're fooling yourself on, Vi. You keep acting like he only loves you because you were Persephone and he was Hades, but Logan denies more than anything he's the same person he was then.

"What was it you told me– like ya've grown up, yea? Childhood sweethearts that learned a lot of new tricks even though they remember the old. But you're still sweethearts in the end, because even though you've changes, that doesn't mean you don't still love each other. Once you love someone, I don't think you can stop. If anything, I think ya fall in love all over again." Wyatt shrugged at his own words after a moment, wiped a hand over his nose in embarrassed habit. "I mean, that's what Aunt Ang says, at least."

"But then I _do_ just feel for Logan because Persephone did?" Violet said, yet it was more a question than a statement. Setting her head in her hands, she groaned. "Gods, this is just _so_ confusing, Wyatt."

"Listen, Vi, you like Logan because of Logan, right? Not because of what you remember of Hades, but because of Logan?"

"Yes…"

"Then, you like Logan. Maybe Persephone loves Hades, but Violet likes Logan. Did done said answered."

_Is it really that simple?_ Biting her lip, Violet glanced up at Wyatt and sighed. "When did you get so smart?"

He chuckled. "I told you I'm a genius."

At that Violet couldn't help but laugh, letting the sound tamper off into the oncoming fall breeze as she noticed Wyatt smiling back at her sadly, little flash of crooked teeth. "Oh, Wyatt, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Because you, and I, and we… You shouldn't have to help me on all of this bullshit with Logan. That's not fair of me to expect it out of you." The guilt in her chest stung anew, though this time it was not for Danny but the boy sitting next to her, so trusting and caring and sweet. And she'd been using him since the start. At first to get away and now to find a reason to stay.

_When did I become so selfish?_ she couldn't help but wonder, breath sticking like thorns in her chest. Where they had once breathed back to life, the roses began to wilt. _When did I lose myself so completely?_

Had she ever really known herself at all?

Wyatt glanced away to the storm clouds forming on the horizon at her words, folded his hands together and leaned forwards onto his knees. "I kinda expected it never to work out anyway. Thaddeus has been sayin' since the start you and Logan were gonna get together. I guess I just hoped…" He sniffed, wiped his hand across his nose again. "But hey, no biggie, right?"

"I wish I felt like that about you," Violet said, and she meant it. "You're such a good kid, but that's just it. You're a _kid_, Wyatt. I'm not…I mean I don't think I'm really some all-knowing adult or anything, but I don't look at life like you do. You see the good in things, and I don't."

"At least tell me I'm pretty, then," Wyatt said, shooting her a humored look, there to ease her as always though this time it only made the hurt worse. "Gotta keep my ego from cracking somehow."

Violet smiled painfully, wishing she could make him happy but knowing that she couldn't. "You're _very_ pretty, Wyatt. I bet you by the end of the week Crista won't be the only girl mooning over you."

A heated blush rose to Wyatt's cheeks then and he batted a Violet's side, making her squeal because it tickled. "She was not '_mooning_' over me. She was just bein' nice."

"And my hair's made of dandelions," Violet scoffed, shoving him back.

"With you," Wyatt said, "that very well may be possible."

* * *

Why _had_ she signed up for this, again?

_It's for the right reasons_, said the voice of the crone.

_And it completely sucks_, answered the maiden.

Hecate sighed, tired willow limbs where she sat on the sofa in John Storms' living room, Janet next to her and sipping languidly at her wine. Besides Charlotte, Janet had been Hecate's only form of solace in the past week she had spent inside of John's home with the others of their kind. The man demanded far too much and was careless with magic– it infuriated Hecate to no end and the only thing that kept her from enacting a curse upon him were the calming words of Janet and Charlotte reminding her it would do no good to be without an ally.

_Ally_, Hecate derided, not for the first time. What were allies in a war like this? Everyone was out for their split of power, thirsty for blood and revenge. The moment those against the Olympians were destroyed, the siblings would turn upon each other. Maybe not Charlotte and Logan, but the others, Hecate had no doubts about. The years had not learned them anything; they still bickered like children and would jump at the chance to have more divinity than one another so as to take command the way they so wanted.

It was a pity though, she had to admit. Such legacy gone to waste on stupid whims. She could see it in old Tamara's eyes that the Fate felt the same. "_They haven't learned a thing, old Hecate,_" Tamara had said to her the first night Hecate had stayed in John's home with the others, everyone else drunk and laughing on false ambrosia. "_Human they be, and yet human they deny._"

Hecate knew Tamara meant the words in a prophetic vision, but she could not figure them out at their core. Yet that didn't mean they weren't true. The Gods had always thought themselves superior to the creatures they had created, and yet they were pettier, vainer, and more _corrupt_ than any mortal she'd ever known. It was almost pathetic how highly they thought themselves, towering over their worshipers' heads and demanding the world and more.

She had never been like that. So dearly she loved and appreciated her priestesses and had given them everything she could. Even now, she always made merry with the covens named in her honor and tried her best to help them. Mortals were so pivotal to the Gods– they meant _everything_ to them and it was unnatural to treat them any other way.

It served the Gods right to fall when the mortals had left them behind. Millennia of torture upon the creatures had sentenced the Gods to a torment of their own, and Hecate knew to pay for their sins was only just. But to see that the others had learned nothing and were only worried for their own sake if the Titans were to be released was heart-breaking.

The notion served to make Hecate feel more alienated in this place. She longed to go back to Fairgrave Manor, to see her Wyatt and Violet and Logan and Thaddeus and Myrtle and Chad who all understood that they were not fighting this war just for themselves, but for humanity as well. While Logan's drive had in fact started as something personal, he had slowly come to now be determined in keeping as many innocents safe from the wrath of his father as possible. Violet had served to change him in such a way, instilled a good in him that had made him realize just how important a single life can be.

It was exactly what Hecate had foreseen would happen the moment Zeus spoke of Persephone's life reincarnated. Logan could deny as much as he wanted that he loved the girl, that she made him better, but it would do no use against the seeing eyes of the crone, of the maiden too. Even Hecate left somewhere in the middle could see his ever growing affections for the girl, his ever growing humanity that she brought forth, a flower to the sun.

Eventually, Hecate was roused from her thoughts when John finally decided to grace the room with his presence. It was to be her turn to search for the others today, Janet having gone the day before and Rosy three days ago. The former had found Ganymede, the cup-bearer to Olympus. The latter had located Hebe, the Goddess of youth and Hera's adored child. To say Helen Storms had been thrilled was an understatement, and she had left nearly immediately to find the girl lost somewhere in the Philippines herself.

"I wish to look for the Erinyes," Hecate said as John called her fourth to the altar.

The man's brows drew together, staring at her with skepticism she did not like. The streak of pride in her that flared when anyone questioned her powers had only burned brighter throughout her many lives, and she felt the need to smite John just to give him a taste. "Three Goddesses, dear Hecate? We all know that once bonded, Gods cannot be found."

"Aye, but old Hecate is afta all the keeper of magic, Zeus," said Tamara from where she sat cross-stitching in the corner of the room. "If anyone shall be able ta break the loop, it is she. And ya forget that the Erinyes are all but one soul split to three parts– if they be with no other Gods then their bond be as eternal as before. With a little power boost findin' them should be easy for old Hecate."

"Thank you, Tamara," Hecate said, inclining her head humbly. The old Fate smiled, yellow knowing teeth as she began to stitch again with knarled fingers.

Hecate took her place at altar then, suppressed a sneer to John as the others all joined hands around her. "Blood of our blood," she mumbled, picking the dagger up from where it sat on the stone slab. The Olympic sand around her began to whirl with threat. "I call upon thee…" A slash of the palm was so common to her anymore she felt not a thing.

Deep red spilled into the bowl below her palm, more than usual because what better way to summon Furies than with extra blood? She said the words, closed her eyes, brimstone filling her lungs when it shouldn't have. She was too lost in the spell the feel the heat on her skin, hear the screams of Tartarus. The divinity of the others seeped into her, a spark of power, a flare of warmth and tempting promise. She could taste it on her tongue, threatening to drive her mad with greed. If she just gave in…

* * *

Hellfire was something her skin had not encountered in a long time. It was so hot it made her feel cold. She did not scream as the flames licked at her, seductive caress. "_Daughter_…" crooned a voice from within the fiery depths, sulfur and ash engulfing her senses. "_Daughter…_"

_This is not right,_ thought the Goddess fuzzily. She was not looking for her mother, her father. _This is not right at all…_

"_Daughter…_" Warm hands caressed her skin, promise of no more pain, no more confusion, no more no more. "_Come to us…_"

She was not in control of her own tongue when she said, "_Yes_."

* * *

And before she could make sense of the stabbing pain in her chest, the proud leers, she was thrust forth into another realm, stumbling into an apartment covered in old pizza boxes and take-out cartons. Three women lay out across the space in separate beds, sleeping with wicked dreams of blood. They had not killed before, but Gods how they wanted to.

Hecate grit her teeth, the hellfire completely forgotten in dreamy whisps of smoke as she moved around the apartment, stepping over dirty clothes and piled Cosmo magazines. There was a phonebook open on the kitchen counter, magnets on the fridge. _Spain._ They were in Spain, a small town on the coast with the sea just an open window away.

They had not been born as sisters, not biologically. Years in a foster system had thrown them together, leaving them all in their late twenties with office jobs and a secret thirst for death. They often fantasized about it when in throws of passion with each other, biting and scratching floor pain. Hecate tried not to linger on those barrowed memories, her stomach turning at the brutality of it. Instead she remembered every detail of this place down to the color of the front door.

One last look at the sleeping women's faces, and she let the spell go.

With a deep breath she was brought back to herself, feeling light headed and burned. But why did she feel as if her skin had been touched by fire? Spain certainly was hot in the summer, but not enough to make her feel cooked raw…

She glanced down at the bowl of blood in front of her, only to realize it had spilled over and stained the front of her mint colored maxi-dress. The Olympians were looking at her with wide eyes, the Fates with sudden fright. "You flailed," admitted Janet eventually. "We thought you were having a seizure."

"I assure you I am okay," Hecate said, feeling the blood slick on her mentally charred skin. "Just…woozy."

"We should get you to bed then, and clean you up," said John, eager to placate the woman's hate for him so he could use her as much as possible without her protest. "Did you have any luck with the Erinyes, my dear?"

"Spain," she said, glancing to old Tamara in the corner. The woman had stopped with her cross stitching, Molly and Alice still and paler than usual at her sides. Hecate blinked confusedly and looked back to John, a dull pounding in her temples. "They reside in a small village on the coast. Salobrena. I shall write down the address for you after I have taken a bath and gotten this…_mess_ off of me."

"Of course, my dear. Oh, but this is simply marvelous, is it not?" clapped the God King, pearl teeth sparkling in the afternoon sun. "Allies we shall have plenty of!"

"Yes," said Hecate as a sprited servant was brought in to escort her back to her rooms and help clean her up of the coagulating heat drying to her flesh. The feeling of warm, comforting hands lingered on her, the lick of flames a pounding in her skull as she walked away in forgotten chaos. "Yes, we shall."

* * *

In the aftermath of the spell, it had only been old Tamara and her goddaughters that had seen the foul yellow in Hecate's eyes, felt the burn of the hellfire upon their skin.


	37. The Meeting

You would think a week's worth of extramarital affair should have made him feel as if he were walking on hot coals, but instead Michael was the most relaxed he'd been in a long time.

Dino was gone day-in, day-out which left Michael and Mrs. Bacchus– he only called her 'Helen' in private– alone to do as they pleased. The strangest part was that Michael was convinced Dino knew, and that he didn't really care. If anything, he was almost pleased. Though, Michael was a bit suspicious that the man's good mood came more from Michael's recent nightmares more than anything.

It was common for ex-soldiers to have war flashbacks, especially after having been a terrorist prisoner while serving, but these nightmares were _different_. They were like the one he'd had the night after he'd met Violet for the first time.

He wasn't in Iraq, not in the present even. Once again, he was on ancient battlefields and reveling in the blood his sword spilt. That made no sense and when he confided in Helen about such things as they laid together in secret while Dino was off conversing with his associates, she simply gave him a small smile and said nothing. The other day she'd brought it up at dinner when Dino was, for once, at home.

"Excellent! I see you are remembering indeed, old friend!" Dino had said, raising his glass of wine towards Michael's direction, in higher spirits than before.

Michael hadn't commented back. He was scheduled to meet with Dino's infamous associates any day now, having had the conference confirmed three days prior, and he would have his answers over the man's strange behavior then.

Or so he hoped.

In the meantime, he thoroughly enjoyed his days spent with Helen, playing house like he'd never had the chance to before. He'd never thought himself the civilian life type, it just hadn't ever fit. But with Helen, things were different. She was a stoic woman, yet soft around the edges with her husband gone. The moment Dino left the house she attacked Michael with kisses, read to him out of old, beautiful books, taught him how to cook more than the average grilled-cheese sandwich. And he always called her Helen when they laid together curled in the sheets after hours of lovemaking, talking about their childhoods outside of all of this shit they'd gotten themselves messed up in.

He never, not once, called her Ariadne like her husband did– a nickname he'd still yet to figure out the origin of– or Mrs. Bacchus like he figured he was supposed to call her, when it came to formality.

He knew her better than that.

So Helen it was instead, the way both of them liked it. And while he knew this affair wasn't going to go anywhere past its title, he didn't much care. He figured he may as well enjoy it while it was happening, because Helen made him feel good again and it'd been a long fucking time since he'd had this feeling. He figured it was just short of a miracle Dino hadn't castrated him for all of this, or something. Because here Michael was, under the obviously dangerous man's employment, owing Dino his _life_, acting as a guest in his home, and fucking the man's wife whenever he got the chance.

Really, it was a wonder Dino hadn't just killed Michael by now.

Then again, Michael had never witnessed a marriage where the separate spouses both seemed fine with the idea of cheating on one another before. Just the other night Helen had said Dino had his side-lays and she didn't much care. He always came back in the end and that was what mattered.

Michael didn't really get that. For seeming not to care about Dino's actions in the slightest, Helen still insisted that she loved him. But it wasn't Michael's place to question her about it; their affair existed separately from the dealings he and her husband was involved with.

"Pan's being dropped off later," Helen said that morning, snapping Michael from his thoughts as she cleaned up the dishes used for breakfast after Dino had kissed her goodbye and headed out the door to talk again with his associates. He'd mentioned something about '_complications_' being the only reason Michael hadn't met with them yet, whatever that meant. These people were annoyingly complex.

"Pan…Dino's kid, right?" Michael asked, getting up to help Helen take the dishes into the kitchen.

"Sort of," Helen said evasively, giving him one of her teasing smiles. "He's twelve. He knows about everything, so feel free to speak your mind."

"He knows his dad's in the mob?" Michael asked, speculative brow raised as Helen turned on the tap to start washing the dishes.

She laughed at him then, a tinkling sound in the open room. "Oh, Michael, is that really what you think? I'm afraid you're confusing my husband with John Storms."

"You know about John Storms?" Michael asked, taking the cleaned plate she offered and drying it before putting it in the cabinet. Over the past week he'd figured out the workings of Dino's house pretty quickly, despite its massive size.

"Of course I do," said Helen. "And I know about little Violet Porter too. Tell me, is she as quiet as I remember?"

"You've met her?"

"A long time ago. We were good companions, once."

Michael's brows drew together, eyes going a bit wide as he stared at Helen in shock. She waited expectantly for him to answer. He cleared his throat and dried the next dish she'd set in the wrack at his side. "She is quiet…but I think it's because she's afraid. That Fairgrave guy did kidnap her, after all."

"Oh, yes, he has the name Fairgrave in this life, doesn't he?" Helen asked absentmindedly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She'd been wearing it down lately since Michael had made a comment the other day on how beautiful it looked not always tied up in one of her immaculate buns after they'd finished with a romp on the living room floor, his fingers working through the strands while the rest of his body was numb in post costal bliss as she laid atop him, limp and satiated.

"_This_ life? Christ, Helen, are you and Dino in some weird religion or something? I'm not joining a cult instead of the mob, am I?" He meant that last part as a joke, trying to give her a lopsided smile but she stared at him somberly. His hands froze in the middle of drying a plate, almost dropping it to the floor. "_Shit_. You _are_ in a cult?"

It made a bit of sense just the way the mob theory did, he couldn't suddenly help but think. It would explain why kidnapping someone seemed so normal with Violet's case, why Dino could call in so many favors and his associates were so aloof. Why everyone kept talking about past lives and Michael needing to remember who he once was. They were probably obsessed with the idea of reincarnation or something.

_Goddamn_.

Well, at least he couldn't be their virgin sacrifice, or something. But little Violet…she seemed like a nice girl, and she'd appeared so astounded with everything around her.

"It's not what you're getting at, Michael," Helen said, giving him a leveled shake of the head as if trying to placate his sudden nerves. He didn't like the idea of Violet getting hurt from all this, even if Dino had promised she wouldn't. She was just a girl after all, as innocent as Helen. "We are not crazy devil worshipers, nor do we wear white robes and burn people at the stake to give homage to our Gods, if that's what you're thinking. We have no God that we answer to but ourselves."

"Then what _do_ you do?" Michael asked, feeling suddenly rooted to his spot. He had thought he'd gotten to know Helen over the past couple of days, the way she told him of her childhood spent in fairytale and her little sisters that all three grew up to be doctors and her time in Moscow after college that she spent studying foreign language before she met Dino and her whole life was changed. But now, she was like a complete stranger. A cult? A c_u_l_t_? "Look, Helen, don't get me wrong– I'm gonna work for Dino until I pay off my debts, but I was raised Catholic. I more or less believe in the Big Guy upstairs, y'know?"

"And I was raised Jewish, but that doesn't mean I practice it," Helen replied, stopping with the dishes to lean back against the chrome of the sink for a moment. Her eyes shone in the mid-morning light and she looked ethereal, something unreal. "There are more Gods in the world than we are led to believe, Michael."

He didn't understand what she was getting at, gave her a questioning sort of eye when abruptly there was a knock at the front door, signaling and end to the conversation. "That'll be Pan," she said with a small grin, leaving Michael standing there in the kitchen staring at where she'd once stood, baffled. After a moment he got his wits and followed her through the dining room and into the living room, stopping at the door to peer into the entry hall where Helen opened the door to find a tall, bird-boned woman with a boy at her side.

The woman spoke in snippets of what Michael recognized as _not_ any Middle-Eastern language, but instead something that sounded more like Swedish or German. The boy looked out into the house as Helen and the other woman conversed, his eyes landing on Michael and lighting up.

"_Oom Ares_!" he said enthusiastically, prancing into the house without warning.

Michael gave a small '_umph_' as the boy's body slammed into his. He held off a curse from how the boy's sudden affectionate hug took him aback. Instead he blinked before awkwardly patting the boy on the back, trying not to be rude. "_Hij kan zich niet herinneren u, Pan_," said Helen from the doorway as she shut the structure, her discussion with the other woman obviously having been finished. There was a suitcase just inside the entryway now, as well as a stuffed goat sitting on top of it.

"_Oh_," said Pan, stepping back from Michael and tossing wooly hair out of his face. "_Het spijt me._"

"I'm sorry," Michael said, grimacing. "I don't speak…?"

"_Dutch_," Helen supplied for him. "Do converse in English please, Pan."

"Sorry," Pan said then, glancing up at Michael with shining green eyes, accent light and unsure. "It is fine you do not remember though, I did not either until I met Father last year."

"Was that your mother at the door?" Michael asked, changing the subject before they got on the whole 'remembering' topic again. He stuffed his hands in his pockets so he didn't begin to fidget uncomfortably under Pan's strangely admiring gaze.

"Yes," answered Pan with a bored frown. "I stay with her in Limburg except every other weekend, when I come here with Father and Ariadne." So Pan was in on Helen's nickname too, then? Michael glanced at the woman in question and she nodded in answer to his silent inquiry. "So you are from America this time?"

_This time?_ "Yeah," Michael said instead of asking what Pan had meant by that last part of the comment. "I'm from Texas originally."

"You moved much?" asked Pan.

"Yeah," Michael said again. "I was a soldier and got moved to a lot of bases. The last one was in Montana." _Where I got thrown in the slammer for killing someone and your old man sprung me free as long as I made a deal with the devil._

"_Cool_!" Pan cried, throwing arms in the air. "I remember when you used to teach me how to sword-fight and wrestle and–"

"Pan," Helen said in a warning tone.

"Sorry," the boy blushed, taking a step back from Michael towards his suitcases. "Well, I should go put my stuff away. Ariadne does not like it when I just leave things laying around."

"Okay," Michael answered, rubbing the back of his head in confusion as Pan grabbed his things and went up the stairs towards where Michael assumed the boy's room to be. There were a lot of spares in the house, his own guest room down at the end of the second-floor hall. "So you guys brainwashed the kid, too?" he asked the moment Pan was gone.

"It isn't brainwashing, Michael." Helen rolled her eyes, headed back towards the kitchen not waiting to see if he would follow. He did. "It is simply truth."

"_Truth_?" Michael questioned. "What _truth_?"

She cast a glance over one bone-winged shoulder, arching her brow archaically. "You will see."

* * *

He didn't like it here.

This place reeked like danger and the more he sat in the waiting room chair, the more his hands began to shake. He couldn't even properly light a cigarette, the receptionist behind the front desk throwing him weary glances when he started cursing about it.

"Are you okay, sir?" she asked in clipped English, smiling falsely over maroon lips.

"Yes, ma'am," Michael answered, bouncing his knee impatiently. "Think that meeting'll take much longer, though?"

The receptionist shook her head. "No, sir. They do not keep clients waiting for too long."

Apparently Dino's associates reserved themselves under the guise of an international law firm. _Funny front for a cult_, Michael had thought when Dino pulled them up in front of the office. The man had come home not three hours after Pan had arrived, ignoring his son and wife to grab Michael by the collar and out the door to Dino's fancy foreign car blathering about how his associates wanted to see Michael right this minutes and there was no time to waste. The last thing Michael had seen before being the door closed behind them was Helen mouthing '_good luck_' his way.

It'd, as he felt, served for a bad omen. So did this office, with its foreign architecture and stained windows depicting scenes of violence. The plants lying around the waiting room weren't Turkish, but Greek. The pots they sat in had ancient etching on them and looked like something he'd seen in that Disney movie Hercules back on his first leave from military training. The chair he sat on was more of piece of art and the whole place smelled like extra-ripe wine and incense.

It was on his fifth try lighting the cigarette between his lips that the door Dino had disappeared into twenty minutes ago when they arrived banged open. Standing in the frame was a tall, lanky sort of man with wiry build. He motioned with one long finger for Michael to follow him.

Blinking, Michael stood from where he sat, cigarette forgotten on the floor. He didn't get a chance to notice the pitying look the secretary shot his way.

Anxiously, he followed the tall guy into a long hall equipped with various doors looking into spacious offices straight out of Law and Order looks wise. Between doorways were old, beautiful painting depicting scenes of war and story Michael had never heard of. Most of the figures were naked, draped only in half-made chitons as they fought and loved with unmoving form. Michael's attention caught on one picture in particular– a bronzed man with shining helm and spear, a lush woman wrapped around him as they laid upon a dais in some great pantheonian hall. It seemed almost a…_familiar_ scene.

"I am Pallas," said the tall man, pulling Michael from his thoughts. Their eyes met and Pallas' glowed a strange burgundy color that gave Michael the creeps. "It is nice to see you again, old friend." His accent was Russian, his movements twitchy yet poised.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember you," Michael said as politely as he could manage.

"You will soon," said Pallas, leading him down the corridor to a set of double doors which he opened to a large conference room. It was lined with wooden panels, the back wall made entirely of windows that looked down into the city streets. There was a large, round table in the middle of the room. Around it sat varying people of varying age. He spotted Dino on the east side, empty seat pulled out for Michael to sit at.

"Thanks," Michael said to Pallas, who gave him a curt nod before sitting down at the edge of the table nearest to the doors, which closed all on their own.

Michael took the chair next to Dino, acutely aware of the eyes on him. He shifted, kept his head high and refused to show how intimidated he was by these people. He may be some lowly ex-marine convict they hired to ruin someone else's life or whatever, but he wasn't going to act any less than them. If they killed him for cockiness, so be it. Not like he had much of a life outside of this business anymore, anyways.

At last, a sharp, regal looking woman at the head of the table spoke. "Mr. Bacchus has told us you're here looking for a piece of mind, Mr. Halefire," she said, lips curling up at the edges to show sharp teeth. She sounded like she was from around this part of the world, though looked like she could be out of a magazine, fine brown curls and flawless dark skin.

Michael nodded, swallowing the nerves in his throat. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Bia, please," said the woman. Her eyes sparkled with malicious intent. "I can assure you, you have come to the right place. Though, remembering won't be without its downfalls, I must warn. The mind is a tricky thing to trigger, especially for those who are no longer young."

"I don't…I don't understand what you mean, Ma– _Bia_," Michael admitted, brows drawn together.

Everyone else around the table laughed, causing chagrin to heat his cheeks. Dino gave his shoulder a reassuring pat before saying, "He keeps denying the truth, Bia. I am afraid that we shall have to speak outright, even though he won't believe us."

"I see," said Bia. She stroked her chin thoughtfully, giving Michael a sizeable stare before nodding. "You are a God, Mr. Halefire," she said simply. "More specifically, a God of _war_. We here are all Gods here, reincarnated throughout the years to be cursed to live the lives of mortals ever since they ignorantly forgot of our importance to them, we who _created_ them.

"The men we have sent you after are Gods as well, though they are more savage than even the mortals in their greed and lusts. They have ruled for too long and we wish to put an end to such matter, which is where you come in. Logan Fairgrave and Violet Porter are crucial in finding something we seek, as their last embodiments hold the _key_ to what we need, and since no one knows of your true identity yet, hardly even _you_, you are the perfect man for the job."

Bia paused a moment in her spiel then, giving Michael time to take in her words. And the longer the silence lasted, the more he thought all of this was a joke. Blinking, he looked at the people around the table, their expressions blank and waiting for his reaction. Even Dino seemed to believe Bia's words, nodding to Michael with reassurance.

And Michael simply couldn't help himself when he started to laugh. He laughed so hard it hurt and he bent over the table, still laughing. "You– you guys are _nuts_," he said, gasping for breath. "Shit, I told you they were just nightmares, Dino! God of war, _ha_! I hoped Helen was telling the truth when she said you weren't a bucha psychos in a cult, but I guess she was just– _heh_– pullin' my leg, huh?"

He laughed some more, eyes watering from all of this. _Leave it to you to get involved with a cult, dumbass,_ he thought to himself, only it was his dad's voice in his head. The man had always said Michael would end up in more trouble than he was worth one day. And while Michael had thought that line had been crossed when he'd murdered that kid and gotten thrown in prison, it turns out he'd only been on the edge. He'd finally dove over when he'd accepted Dino's offer. Deal with the devil indeed, especially because these fruit loops thought they were _Gods_.

"I assure you this is no laughing matter, Mr. Halefire," said Bia, her tone having turned to venomous steal. "Your so called nightmares are _memories_. Though I can see it is going to take more than words to convince you."

"Lady, it's gonna take the fucking universe to convince me of a story like that!" Michael guffawed, ignoring Dino's warning tone when the man said, "Michael, you must not be rude."

"Yes, well, I don't think it shall require _that_ much," Bia said with a roll of her eyes. She sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers together. "Cratos, Pallas, I believe we shall put into effect what we were talking of before Mr. Halefire over here joined us."

"You can't mean that, Bia," said Dino, and his despairing tone was enough to make Michael stop laughing and instead eye Pallas at the edge of the table where he began to stand. Next to him a beast of a man stood as well. Their eyes were the same strange brownish-red as they leered at Michael, making his pulse spike in warning.

"Hey now, wait a minute–" Michael said, but was cut off when Pallas and the other guy– _Cratos_– abruptly came forth to grab him by the arms. It was in that moment he knew he should've bought a gun when all of this started as he'd considered doing, if only to defend himself with. But at the time he'd figured it would be more trouble than worth. Now though, he knew so much better. _Fucking idiot_, his mind screamed, body struggling in the grip now held of him. The men were stronger than anyone else he'd encountered before, and he began to sweat with effort and dread.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, lady?" he asked, thrashing as if he were a wild animal being hooked to a chain.

Were they going to kill him, then?

"There are other ways of triggering the brain to memory besides talking, Mr. Halefire," Bia said calmly even as he battered against the men holding tight to him. He could've probably taken Pallas out if it was just he holding onto Michael, but Cratos was twice his size and about four times as strong. Even elbowing him right in the throat was like crashing bone into brick wall. "I believe a little repeat of your time in Iraq may start digging up…_suppressed_ memories."

Repeat of his time in Iraq? What did she mean by that…?

_Fuck_, she couldn't really mean…

With a grunt, Michael began to struggle harder, a full-out fear inside of him now. They _couldn't._ Not again, he refused to let that happen again. It couldn't, it simply couldn't! Already, his lungs felt deprived, head swimming as he tried to make out dream from reality. He was drowning but there was no water on his skin, just in his mouth, his throat. There were screams of other men, his fellow soldiers, until finally he was the only one left, sitting to rot in his own filth while he died, only the sounds of war roaring in his head.

"Get the fuck off me! Get the fuck _off_!" he cried, kicking and spitting as Cratos and a newly injured Pallas– his nose was bleeding where Michael had managed to slam his head back and catch the man off-guard– began to drag him from the room.

"Bia, please," Dino tried, but the woman simply held up a hand for him to stop.

The men had Michael to the newly opened doors by now, hefting him down the hall even as he screamed and fought. "You crazy bitch!" he shouted at Bia, sweat pouring down his skin and adrenaline flooding his veins as if he were in combat all over again. Because he _was_. They were not going to kill him, but what they had planned was so much worse. Even the memory of his entrapment made him wish for death. "You crazy fucking bitch!"

"You don't know the half of it," Bia smiled, and with a wave of her hand, the doors shut in Michael's face.

* * *

For a moment, no one in the room spoke as Michael's shouts and struggles echoed down the hall, until suddenly another door banged and no more sound came at all. The silence was distilled only by Dino Bacchus, who raised his eyes to the woman at the head of the table with disapproval and worry for his old friend. "Bia, I really don't believe all of this is necessary. He has done everything that we asked of him. Surely there must be another way other than _torture_."

Bia shrugged, seeming unaffected and quite bored with the entire ordeal now that her decision had been made and Michael was on his way to break and bruise until the torment left nothing but his old life behind. "He wanted to remember, Dionysus," she said with an air of simplicity. "And so remember he shall."


	38. The Birthday Present

_Twenty-one_.

Violet was twenty-one years old today. It still seemed like she was living in a dream when she woke up, mind hazy as she registered the time on the alarm clock atop the nightstand. _Six a.m._. The exact moment she'd been reborn into this world twenty-one years ago, a screaming babe ignorant to what she'd once been.

It had been almost two weeks since she had talked to Wyatt in the garden that day. Evangeline still wasn't back from Chicago yet, and the silence in the house had become far too common a companion. She had yet to discuss with Logan what had happened between them nearly three weeks ago. It was like a game of avoidance, who could make an excuse to leave the room first.

Even if Wyatt had helped her realize her feelings for Logan were true, that didn't make things any better. There was still the fact she missed Danny more than anything. The fact that there was war brewing on the horizon, a promise of blood and havoc. Love wasn't enough to cure those kinds of issues. Everyone walked around thinking love would make their lives inadvertently better, but Violet knew it wouldn't. If things were that simple, there would be no war, no famine, no pain.

Once she'd had the same disillusion as most– that if she found that one person that made her feel whole again, everything would be alright. But life didn't work like that. It wasn't another person that completed you, you had to complete yourself. And how could she accomplish such a task when she didn't even know who '_herself_' was? The question made her want to rip out fistfuls of hair and throw things and break glass, but she kept her mouth shut and disguised the anger and the sadness with sleep.

Above all, the only thought that came to mind was a completely selfish one in that she felt none of this was fair. At twenty-one you weren't supposed to have your life figured out. You were supposed to be making mistakes with scraped knees, picking yourself up and using bandages and alcohol and not enough sleep to fix the damage. Instead here she was, pseudo parent of an abandoned little brother and a broken girl meant to be Goddess and help save the world when she could barely hold her own self up without shaking.

How could love fix _that_?

And how could it erase the fact that Logan had lied to her? No matter if her feelings were her own, spurred by loss or ache or pure want, it didn't change the fact he hadn't told her the truth. She'd learned from a young age honesty was something she was to hold close. The one thing no one could steal from you no matter how hard they tried was your ability to tell the truth. Even Apollo hadn't been able to take that from Cassandra, regardless that he'd made it so those around her wouldn't believe her words.

Sighing, Violet moved to the edge of the bed and stretched her limbs. Marea whined from her spot next to where Violet had been laying, perking up with a jingle of her collar. The symbol on her tag flashed in the light of dawn and Violet bit her lip, looked away.

More than anything, she didn't want to talk to Logan because she was _embarrassed_. The last few times she'd talked to him she'd been whiny and petulant and completely not herself. She'd used him to numb her own feelings, and that wasn't right. Even if he had lied to her, that didn't make him a toy for her to work her frustrations out on. People weren't made for you to use and throw away when finished with. The Gods may have done that, but not her.

So maybe if it was just best she left him alone, kept the space between them until all of this was over. There were other things to focus on after all.

She took her time in getting ready for the day, no hurry to brush her teeth, wash her face and stumble down to have breakfast with Wyatt before he left for school. Her morning meals with Logan had ceased after they'd come home from the gala, and while she strangely missed them, she just reiterated to herself that it was for the best. Love didn't fix anything.

"Morning, birthday girl," said Wyatt when she finally made her way into the kitchen, Marea scampering to the back doors and pawing to be let out.

"Morning," Violet said to him softly, answering the dog's request and letting her go. Marea raced off instantly, barking after some birds on the lawn. Violet turned back to Wyatt, eyeing his bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice skeptically. "Chad not up yet?"

With Evangeline gone, Chad had taken to fixing breakfast most days. He couldn't cook as well as Evangeline, but he gave it a good shot. Except he always burned Thaddeus' stuff. The two had had animosity since the gala and Violet was too tired to ask what was going on, even if the bickering between the two of them had gotten kind of annoying lately.

"No, not yet," Wyatt shrugged, adding spoonfuls of sugar to his Rice Crispies. Violet smiled softly, the trait reminding her of Danny. Danny, who'd always made her pancakes on her birthday, regardless if the date fell on a Sunday or not. Today was a Tuesday and he would've gotten up extra early just to make sure breakfast was ready before she awoke. "Can I offer you a gourmet birthday breakfast of cereal, though?"

"I'm good," Violet laughed, taking the seat next to Wyatt and curling her legs up beneath her. She'd worn shorts to bed last night, the fresh cuts on her legs peeking out from the hem. A bit frantically, she covered the wounds before Wyatt could see. "Have anything planned after school tonight?"

"Naw," said Wyatt, waving a hand nonchalantly. He'd been hanging out a lot lately with a new group of friends that Christa had introduced him to. Violet was convinced Wyatt and that girl were dating, but Wyatt had denied her queries, even though he constantly texted Christa when they weren't hanging out in person. "I wanted to be free for your birthday."

"Good," Violet said, bit her lip and glanced across the room. "I was thinking we could go into town…"

There was silence for a moment before Wyatt said, "_Really_?" as if he couldn't believe her words.

"Yeah," she nodded, twisting her fingers together in habit. "I mean, I've never left this house except when we went to Chicago. Obviously I'm not going to run anymore, so why shouldn't we go out? I was thinking we'd get Chad to go, and Thaddeus too if they promise not to fight. And Myrtle, since she's feeling better." The old woman had recuperated just fine, Chad having taken her stitches out with only a few whacks to the head for Myrtle's amusement. She was still shaky with walking after nearly three weeks bed rest, but Marea let her hold onto her scruff and led Myrtle around the house patiently. "And, I mean, if he wants, Logan can come to…"

"I think he'd want to," Wyatt said, looking down at the table before meeting her in the eye again. "There's uh– go check the fridge real quick."

Violet raised a brow quizzically, about ready to ask Wyatt _why_, but he just waved for her to do so insistently. With a blink, she stood from her chair and walked to the fridge as instructed, shocked to find an envelope taped up there with her name on it. Slowly, she brought it back with her to the table just as Marea came inside, lapping thirstily from her water bowl as her tail wagged.

"Who's this from?" Violet asked Wyatt after a moment of silence, holding the envelope up to the light for inspection.

"It's got Uncle L.'s handwriting on it, so I'm guessing him. Why don't you open it?" Wyatt murmured around a spoonful of cereal.

He gave her an encouraging smile then and she nodded, the envelope tucked in on itself instead of sealed as she pried the tab loose. Inside was a simple card. The front was a simple cardstock white, with a rose sketched on it shakily by hand. Tilting her head curiously, Violet opened the card up to find a note written inside, script same as her name on the envelope. It was scratchy and sharp and the more she stared at it the more she realized it _was_ Logan's handwriting.

_Violet,_

_ I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble in the time since we have met. You must know, it was never my intention to enact you harm. I took you for selfish reasons and lied to you for selfish reasons in the same breath. Though each time, those selfish reasons were entirely different in motive. _

_ At first I had myself convinced that the only cause I wished to know you for was to use you. I am not proud of this. I can only explain by saying there is still a hatred in me for my father that I cannot put into words, and I thought with your alliance I could end him once and for all. I know now that I need you for entirely different reasons. While I am not Hades and you are not Persephone, I remember how he felt for her: she was his light. _

_ And you are mine._

_ I cannot apologize enough for what I have put you through. Had I left you alone, everything would be as it should. You never asked for a part in this, and I never asked if it was what you wanted. Again, I made the mistake of never hearing your opinions. Yet I cannot say I would go back and change things if I could. That would mean denying myself of you, and I am uncertain if I could accomplish such a task._

_ Know my feelings for you that night in Chicago were entirely true, as they still are. I do not want to hurt you. That was never my intention._

_ My only hope is that for at least today you can find some respite from all of this madness that you have been thrown into the middle of. On the back of the card is an address for you to go to. I have left a map in the car in the garage, the one with the keys in the ignition. Everything else you need for the trip is in the console. _

_ I made the mistake many lives ago of not trusting you, when it was always myself I didn't trust. Now I know better. You may stay at the address the whole day and night; I've already alerted Thaddeus to your departure, and he'll call to check in on you once you arrive. You'll be safe there, I promise._

_ Happy birthday,_

_Logan._

With a hiccup, she blinked away the bite of tears. Her eyes ran over the words in the card again and again, until finally Wyatt cleared his throat and she glanced to him with trembling lip and hand. "What does it say?" Wyatt asked, trying to lean over to read the words.

Violet clutched the card to her chest protectively, shaking her head. "He– he set me up somewhere to go, for my birthday… I don't know where but, um–" She paused a moment to turn the card over, finding an address on the back. "It's just got an address."

"Where?" Wyatt asked. "Can I come?"

"I think I'm supposed to go by myself," Violet said, blushing. "You'd have to miss school to go, and considering you're still on academic probation according to everyone else in the house, that wouldn't fly very well."

"Is it _safe_ to go by yourself?" Wyatt asked skeptically. Everyone in the house was still on red alert after Selene and Helios' attack. Thaddeus continued to have Violet train daily, and while she had not made much progress in way of her divinity, her powers were starting to slowly come back, if only to make plants bloom. Logan called Evangeline every three days to make sure the wards around the house would at least alert to new presence on the property if not keeping them out.

"Logan said it would be," Violet answered Wyatt, Marea coming to lie between the two of them then. "Can you…can you watch her? While I'm gone, I mean. It'll just be for the night. I'd imagine I'll be home before you come back from school tomorrow."

"Uh, sure," Wyatt said, a bit of bewilderment coloring his tone. "So no birthday shenanigans for us, then?"

"I'm sorry, Wyatt," she grimaced. "I just…"

"No, it's totally cool," Wyatt said, waving her off with a goofy smile. "I mean, you need to get out of this house for a while, Vi. You're suffocating in here. It's probably a good thing ya get to adventure it alone, too. Ya need some time away from all of us."

"Not you," she said, tone lax. "You're my best friend." Because, next to Albany, he was.

"I know," Wyatt chuckled. "But like I said, ya need to get out of here before it kills you. You're like a bird in a cage, Vi. Every once in a while, you need to fly."

"Yeah?" Violet said, then really took his words in and nodded. "Yeah. I think you're right."

* * *

It turned out to be that the address was a bed and breakfast on the Connecticut coast.

Violet arrived more than shocked, the hour long car-ride having been spent thinking she was going…well, she hadn't really known. The map she'd found in the car's console had been vague, with simple routes traced in red towards her destination. There had been a wad of cash stashed in there too, as well as a pair of sunglasses, a track phone, and to her utter fascination and horror, a gun. The latter she'd left in its place, instead taking out the map and putting on the sunglasses so the sun wouldn't blind her as she drove.

It had been nice to be on the road for a while, mindless activity with the radio on. She'd followed the directions and ended up on a small peninsula, the bed and breakfast standing proud yet humbly with its title sign out front. Smiling in delighted surprise, she moved to put the map back in the console for the trip home, exchanged it for the track phone and sat staring at the gun with puzzling conscience for a moment. Logan had said she'd be safe here, yet she couldn't help but wonder if the weapon was just in case…

Blinking, she quickly grabbed it from the console and shoved it in the bottom of her bag without further thought.

She didn't let the choice nag her as she got out of the car, locking its doors securely. It was one of the nicer cars in Logan's garage, and she'd been utterly terrified to drive it at first. It was a sure bet that if she accidentally wrecked it, it'd take about twenty years for her to pay it off, assuming she ever got to go back home and could salvage her job at K-mart, that was. But once she'd gotten behind the wheel it had driven easily, allowing her to even speed a little with secret thrill. She'd never driven a sports car before– just her grammy's battered Honda– but now she understood why Wyatt raved about Logan's cars so much.

Taking a deep breath, she started towards the bed and breakfast, figuring that was why there had been cash in the console– to be able to rent a room anyways. Stepping inside was like a flashback to the past. It smelled of old parchment and wood fires, stairs immediately in front of her in the quaint entry hall, a sitting room to the right, a check-in foyer to her left. She meandered to the front desk and smiled at the beautiful woman behind it, who beamed back from behind red lips.

"Hello, sweetheart," said the woman, looking like she'd just stepped off the cover of Vogue with lush curves and flawless golden hair flecked with gray, which suited her perfectly. Violet noticed a nametag on her fifties styled dress that read _Gladys_. "How may I help you?"

"Um, I'd like a room, please," Violet said, trying her best to act as if she'd had all of this planned.

"I'm afraid that you need a reservation, sweetheart," said Gladys with a sympathizing smile.

Violet blushed from head-to-toe, suddenly feeling ten kinds of stupid. "Oh," she said, and then realized that if Logan had given her the address of this place, he must have known such a thing. "Could you maybe check under the name Logan Fairgrave, then?" she asked softly, figuring Logan wouldn't be apt to use _her_ name considering the fact he'd been the one calling for reservations.

A small light flashed in Gladys' green eyes, which she quickly disguised with a bright smile. "Oh, _of course_!" she said. "You must be Logan's gal, I take it!" Violet had no heart to correct her. "We've been expecting you, sweetheart. It's…_Violet_, isn't it?" The smirk Gladys gave after saying her name made Violet shiver.

"Yes," Violet said, blush still prominent on her cheeks and nerves thoroughly freaked. "That's me."

"Oh, well your beau is _such_ a darling," Gladys swooned, turning to the cubbies behind her to pull out a set of keys, giving them to Violet with a stunning smile. "It's so considerate of him to send you out here for the night as a birthday surprise while he's working! Just _wait_ until you see your room!"

"Um, thanks?" Violet said, taking the keys awkwardly and glancing down at the floor. "I– what room is it?"

"Number six, sweetheart," Gladys said. "It's up the stairs and the third door on your left. We serve breakfast tomorrow morning from six to ten. Also, there is many an attraction around here. Brochures are up in your room on the desk, if you'd like to check anything out!"

"Thank you," Violet said again.

"Not a problem, sweetheart. Your beau already has everything paid for, so whatever you need just call down to the front desk for it. Check-out's at eleven tomorrow morning. Do you need someone to take your things up for you?" Gladys was giving her this secretive, excited grin that made Violet's stomach do little flips in anxiety. "I can call Scotty over, if needed."

"That's okay," Violet shrugged. "I just have this bag, so…"

"Alright, well, enjoy your stay, _Violet_, dear. Let me know if you need _anything_."

With a weary nod, Violet left to climb the steps to the second floor to be face with a narrow hall. There were six doors on each side, evenly spaced. Violet found room six quickly and unlocked it, a small pleasure in the fact she was using an actual old-fashioned key and not a room card. Vintage stuff made her undecidedly happy, always had.

Once inside, she let the door close behind her and gasped. The room wasn't big by any standard, but it was absolutely beautiful. The upper halves of the walls were lined in dark blue floral wallpaper, and the bottom half was wood trim painted white. The floors were the same white wood, and the bed was a massive white canopy with a thick comforter and endless pillows. There was a fireplace next to the bathroom door, which was exclusively bright with claw foot tub and Victorian sink. The west wall housed a large bay window that gave Violet a perfect view of the ocean; below it sat a desk complete with brochures and old books.

More than anything though, Violet was shocked by the abundant amount of vases full of flowers strewn about. There were daffodils and peonies and carnations and roses and violets and lilies and poppies and freesia and lavender and honeysuckle and baby's breath and daisies and azaleas galore. The room smelled like a greenhouse and each bud bloomed freshly picked. They covered the desk, the nightstands, the fire place's mantel and even the back of the toilet in the bathroom.

An excited, grateful giggle suddenly escaped her mouth and Violet shrugged her bag onto the bench at the end of the bed, walking over to the vase of daffodils on the desk and taking a sniff. At her amazed attention they began to double in size, buds spilling over the sides of the vase.

Had Logan done _all_ of this for her?

At the comprehension she felt a sudden guilt for having treated him so poorly these past weeks. It'd been so selfish of her, just shutting everyone out because she was sad. But that was how she'd always been, if she were honest with herself. One time she'd read a quote to explain it, something about a depressed person always being self-centered because it was hard to live in the hell of yourself and not think of it every moment.

Had Persephone ever been like this? In every memory Violet had of the woman, she'd always felt a vague sense of underlying sadness, something the Goddess had never been able to escape. Her entire life Persephone had grown up with a sheltering mother, learning that everything she did needed approval. She'd never felt like she did things right under Demeter's care, always asking _is this right Mama did I do good Mama_. It had even been a feeling that had unfortunately bled over into her time with Hades, even when the loneliness Persephone felt trapped in the dark of the Underworld had smothered her. Hades had made it better somehow, in bits. She'd felt more right with him, more like a proud woman and less an ignorant child. But the sadness had always been there, a completely human emotion Persephone had seen in no other God except maybe Hades himself.

And Logan, too, Violet realized with shock. While he wasn't depressed necessarily, Violet could see the lonesomeness in him. She'd always been able to. He put on a front like he didn't need anyone, but Violet knew he just wanted someone to love him. Not because he had been a God once, or because they felt they owed it to him for saving their life or taking them in, but just because he was _Logan_ and that was it.

Sighing, she dropped down onto the bench next to her bag. For a moment she didn't do anything but sit there. But after a bit she took out the track phone, thinking that she should check in with Thaddeus now that she was settled who'd told her the house's number was programmed into the phone before she'd left this morning. In fact, it was the _only_ number programmed into the phone she saw once looking at the contacts. She pressed the _call_ button after a moment, putting the receiver to her ear and waiting.

Thaddeus answered after the third ring, happy to hear she'd liked her present, as he'd known about it all along and had even suggested such a trip when Logan was thinking up ideas. Violet thanked him with a warm laugh, telling him to get along with Chad while he was gone. Thaddeus gave a heavy groan, before perking up again and telling her to take care of herself and that he'd call in the morning to make sure everything was fine. Violet was just about to bid him goodbye, when she had a sudden idea.

"Thaddeus," she said softly. "Do you think you could, um, patch me through to Logan's office phone…? So I can thank him."

"Sure, but he isn't home just yet, queeny. You'll havta leave a message."

"That's fine, really," Violet murmured. "Oh, but Thaddeus?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything, I mean. You're– you're a good friend."

"Aw, I think I'm tearing up," Thaddeus joked warmly. "Call me when you wake up tomorrow, queeny. Happy birthday."

Within the next minute Violet was patched through to Logan's office phone, heart thumping loudly in her chest as the voicemail told her to leave a message. "Um, Logan?" she started, stumbling over her next words. "H-hi. It's me– Violet, I mean. It's Violet. I just…I wanted to say _thank you_, for my present I mean. I– I love it. It's beautiful. The flowers are beautiful."

She took a deep breath, thinking it would be best to end the call now but she couldn't, there was still so much more to say. "I just, Logan I'm _so_ sorry. For how I've treated you lately, I mean. That hasn't been fair of me. I'm not going to say it's fine you lied to me or that you wanted to use me at first, because that would mean I'd be lying myself. But I– I understand. I understand why you did it. And I, well, I _forgive_ you. I do. Not just because you gave me a great birthday present or anything, but because you're a good guy underneath it all, and I can't _not_ forgive you… I don't want you to beat yourself up about it anymore, okay?

"Everything you said in that card, I believe it. And I just want you to know, my feelings were the same, back in Chicago. You're a good man, Logan, and I don't want you to think otherwise. You've made mistakes, but you're still a good man. I forgive you…" She bit her lip, shook her head and took another deep breath. "But, uh, thank you again for my birthday present. I couldn't have asked for a better one. I'm gonna let you go before I override your inbox. I– I hope you have a good night."

She ended the call then, setting the phone down in her lap with shaking hands. What she had to say had been said, and she could only hope he believed the words, and that he'd forgive her too.

* * *

By some miracle, she'd thought to pack a dress.

Right now, she couldn't help but think that came in handy. Even if she was wearing it alone in her room, drinking cheap wine– the perks of being twenty-one finally in her grasp– from a nearby market and listening to Alanis Morrisette as loud as her iPod could play, she felt somewhat festive in the soft summer dress with its sheer skirt and ruffled straps.

Lazily, she had her feet propped up on the desk, staring out at the sea where a buoy flashed in the night. There was a Hostess cupcake next to her foot, a single candle sticking out of it, lit with the wax running onto the cupcake's processed frosting. Taking another sip of wine out of one of the paper cups she'd bought along with the beverage, cupcake and candles, Violet put her feet down on the floor and leaned towards the cupcake, eyes on the candle.

Contemplatively, she stared at the flickering flame a moment, eyes sad and posture lonely. "I wish I could just get my shit together," she finally mumbled.

Took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and blew…

She kept her eyes closed after, tempted to never open them again if it would make everything else in the world go away. Fix the problem just like that, erase the fact she'd ever been a Goddess or that her father had ever died and her mom had ever gone insane. Make it so her and Danny had never had to make it on their own, that the Titans had been killed the first time and the world could be safe from their wrath.

But wishing was simple chimerics, an idea told to children to give them hope for the future where there was none.

Exhaling, Violet let her eyes slip open, light flashing into the window from the buoy beyond. Just as she was about to take the wrapper off her cupcake and enjoy her generic version of a birthday cake, there was a knock on her room's door.

She figured it was Gladys, who had stopped by five times at least to see if she needed anything. While it was sweet of the woman to do so, Violet was becoming slightly annoyed and about ready to ask the inn manager just to leave her alone. There was a '_Do Not Disturb_' sign on the room's door handle for a reason, after all.

Rolling her eyes, Violet stumbled over to the door, the many flowers in the room swelling with her proximity. She didn't bother to peer out the peephole, instead twisting the lock and letting the door drift open, ready to tell Gladys to give it a rest. But who she found on the other side though was definitely _not_ Gladys.

It was Logan.

He stood there with his back to her, hands in his pockets and posture tense, bouncing on his heels. When he heard her gasp in surprise, he spun, startled. The dark crescents under his eyes leered like Cheshire grins as he stared at her, and she wondered how long it had been since he had had a good night's sleep. Even his skin was paler than usual.

A soft sadness welled in her then, and before the man could even say '_hello_', she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind them. She didn't give him chance to recover, instead throwing her arms around him in a tight hug, inhaling his scent that she hadn't let herself do the past three weeks. He smelled more of smoke than usual– like clove cigarettes– and his customary aftershave as well as that earthy quality she could never put a name to.

"Well, hello," he said, seeming shocked and rigid in her embrace.

"Hi," she squeaked, grinned when he suddenly hugged her back just as forcefully.

They broke apart after what seemed forever but also not long enough, him clearing his throat, her shifting awkwardly in her summer dress. "You look nice," he said after a moment, rubbing the back of his head.

"Thank you," she said, pinching at her skirts and pulling them out before letting them drift back into place. "I figured since it's my birthday, I may as well dress up."

"It suits you," he said, glanced around the room and cleared his throat again. "So I take it you liked the flowers?"

"Very much."

"Good," he said, eyes lingering on the desk at the half-empty bottle of wine and the cupcake covered in coagulating wax. Violet blushed and looked down at the floor, hands now clasped behind her back. "I got your message," he finally said, seeming almost sheepish at the admission. "I would've called first but I…didn't." He grimaced. "If you, uh, want to be alone though, I understand. Maybe I should've called first." He took a step towards the door then, continued to babble. "I mean I got you this room so you could get away from all of us, _me_ namely, for a while, and then I just show up and ruin it like some bumbling moron and I–"

"Stay," she said, interrupting him.

He froze, halfway to the door and just a breath away from her. "What?"

"Stay," she said, eyes shining in the soft light of the room. "I mean, it is my birthday. I shouldn't be alone on my birthday." She tried to give him her best smile. It turned into more of a tremor of the lips. "I want you to stay, Logan. Please?"

For a moment, he looked torn. She thought he really was going to leave, had come here for no reaon other than to check-up on her to see if she'd gone crazy for leaving that message. But then, abruptly, his whole frame relaxed. He nodded, a relieved breath escaping his lips. "Okay," he said. "I'll stay."


	39. The Light

**A/N**: One chapter full of shameless fluff, a la done.

* * *

He hadn't been thinking when he came here.

All Logan had known was that Violet had said she'd forgiven him, after everything he'd done to her, she'd forgiven him. Just hearing her voice, so soft and gentle and _trusting_… He hadn't thought, just acted. Got in his car and took what was supposed to be an hour's drive in less than thirty minutes.

The receptionist– Gladys, he remembered her name being– had given him a knowing look when he'd told her his name and asked for Violet's room. "I still remember when you were kids," she'd said, red lips curling at the corners. "You love her just as much– if not _more_– now as you did then, Lord Hades."

He hadn't responded, simply told her '_thank you_' for giving him the room number and took the stairs two at a time. Once outside of Violet's door though, he'd found long pause.

_Would she want him here? _

It'd been three weeks since the last time she'd looked him in the eye. For three weeks he'd stood outside her bedroom door and had wanted to knock, say he was sorry, simply to turn away when he heard her sobbing herself to sleep. For three weeks he'd made every excuse he could not to be in a room alone with her, if only to spare her his presence she so obviously felt uncomfortable with.

Every day he grew more and more desperate just to have her _smile_. Not even at him, but anything. She was fading with each pass of the moon, drawing in on herself worse than before. At first he thought it had to do with the killings that had happened in the house, but quickly realized it was mostly because of that bloody fucking phone call he'd had her make. Because _of course_ she'd be depressed after having heard her brother's voice for the first time in two months, lying to him and telling him she couldn't come home and thinking that at any moment he could be killed like Lila and Slater, two lives lost for nothing.

Logan felt like ten kinds of asshole for that one, and it had kept him lying awake in bed at night, smoking cigarettes like a mad man wracked with guilt. Quite seriously, he'd thought of letting her go home. Just going in her room and telling her he was putting her in the car and taking her back to Danny right that moment. But he'd always talked himself out of it, whether with an excuse it still wasn't safe for her to leave yet or that Fawn would come snooping around without him there and make things more complicated than Violet needed.

Really, he knew it was for more selfish reasons.

He couldn't stand the idea of being without her, even though if it truly came down to it he'd leave her be if she wanted. What he'd said in that letter, about her being his light, it had been completely true. And while Hades had felt that way for Persephone, Logan felt it so much _more_ with Violet. She was everything he'd never known he'd wanted and needed, too. A girl that made his heart threaten to beat out of his chest just at the thought of her.

Logan thought he'd been in love before, back in high school with his first girlfriend and then Patricia not so long ago. But he knew now that none of those feelings could measure up to the ones he had for Violet. In such a short time she'd wrapped herself around his every muscle, leaked into him like a disease he never wanted the cure for. He may have been a God once, but that didn't mean he wasn't made of bone and skin, weak as a mortal when it came to matters of the heart, the soul.

Violet made him aware of that, of how human he really was and had always been. She made him aware of everything; of how fragile life could be and the way he took it for granted because he'd had so many. Each moment with her was precious, something he knew he had to make last because he'd never get them back again. The Gods had never had sense of time, thinking eternity was what awaited them, but now he knew that even forever didn't matter when you loved someone. It would never be enough.

Getting all the courage he could about him, he'd knocked on the door then. Spun around in nerves at the idea of seeing rejection on her face. But then she'd gasped and he'd looked at her and it had been like those three weeks they hadn't spoken never existed. Because she was _here_, right then, in that moment. And she'd grabbed him and pulled him inside and _hugged_ him and he'd never wanted to let go.

Until he realized he'd never technically been invited in the first place. But then, miracle of all miracles, she was asking him to _stay_. The loneliness of her frame was so apparent he couldn't help but agree not to leave her, even if he'd sent her out here so she could get away from him in the first place. _It was Thaddeus' idea anyways_, he told himself, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the bench at the end of the bed.

All of the flowers in the room seemed to perk up at his acquisition, mirroring the joy on Violet's face. To say he was shocked was an understatement, as was to say he was elated to see her happy. Gods, he'd wanted to see her smile for weeks now. That just his agreement to be her company for the night made that happen had his hands shaking.

She'd said she'd forgiven him. She'd said she'd felt the same as he had back in Chicago that night. She'd said everything he'd wanted to hear and more. And now she wanted him to _stay_.

"How come you're not out to dinner or something?" he found himself asking, sitting down next to his coat and flexing his hands against his lap.

"Didn't feel up to it," she shrugged, taking the desk chair he guessed she'd been sitting in earlier. "Want a cupcake? The package came with two."

"Sure," he said, giving a shrug. It'd been a while since he'd had aa Hostess poduct, and the artificial and processed taste of it was kind of fucking awesome, he admitted to himself as he bit into the confection the same time Violet took a bite of her own sweet. "What did you wish for?" he asked around a mouth of chalky, chocolate frosting as he nodded to the birthday candle now discarded on the desk.

Violet wiped crumbs off the sides of her mouth before answering. "I can't tell you that, otherwise it won't come true. Don't you know how birthday wishes work, silly?"

"Not really," he said, watching as she scraped candle wax off the top of her cupcake before taking another hearty bite. "I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was twenty-five."

"_Why_?" Violet all but shouted, then covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. "I mean, there's a lot of people for you to celebrate it with. Why don't you?"

"I don't see a point," he shrugged. "The older you get, the more you realize how trivial birthdays are. Just another year closer to dying."

"Well that's a cheery outlook," Violet said, rolling her eyes.

"It's the reason Thaddeus has been thirty-five for six years running now," Logan mumbled, finished the rest of his cupcake and ran his tongue over his teeth. It was kind of ironic, he'd always thought, how the reincarnation of Death feared his own design. Then again, when the Gods died they were stuck in some kind of oblivion before being reborn again. Avoiding being trapped in infinite nothingness and cold was as good a reason as any for running from the end, Logan figured.

"He doesn't _look_ that old!" Violet said astoundingly. "Next thing you know you're going to tell me Evangeline's in her fifties."

"Close," Logan smirked. "She's forty-seven."

"Shit," Violet said, grabbing the bottle of cheap wine she'd left on the desk and pouring some in a plastic cup before handing it to him. He smirked at her and she blushed, before he took a large swig to reassure her. He'd never liked wine, really, but the cheap stuff tasted enough like grape juice he could stand it. "How old is John then, and Edgar? And Helen and Charlotte for that matter? And Fawn?"

"Whoa, slow down, love," Logan chuckled, feeling a district thump in his chest as Violet's flush grew at the nickname, her pupils dilating. The last time he'd called her that had been back in Chicago, when they'd been wrapped around each other post intimacy, her legs twisted up with his and his fingers curling in her hair while they'd kissed the costal high away and back again… Clearing his throat, Logan dashed those thoughts before they escalated to what had happened before the spooning, and after it in the bathtub. "John's forty-two, ten years older than Helen. Charlotte in thirty-four and Fawn is thirty-eight. Edgar is the youngest out of all of us. He's only twenty-seven. His wife, Stella, looks like she's in her mid-twenties."

Violet paused in the middle of fiddling with the straps of her dress, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean '_looks_' like she's in her mid-twenties?"

Logan laughed, spilled some of the cheap wine out of its cup and onto his pants, didn't much care if it would stain or not. "Violet, how much do you know about nymphs?"

"Well, everything, considering Persephone was raised with them, and I took a myths class and all…" She trailed off, squinted a little in concentration before jumping in her chair with recognition. "Oh my God! Amphridite! Stella is Amphridite!"

"Yes," Logan said, resisting the urge to get up and kiss her at how cute she looked in her moment of proud realization. "You know nymphs live as long as their element, and since hers is the sea, she'll pretty much live forever. She and Poseidon have found each other in every cycle they've had. Since the moment he married her, he has stayed true. That holds for each life he's had since the first. They live in Florida now, even though Edgar is actually from Iceland."

"He doesn't have an accent," Violet said curiously.  
"Neither does John, but he was born in Hungary."

"The more you know," Violet said, shrugging as she raised her cup in silent toast before sipping leisurely at its contents. When she was done, she slowly looked down into the cup and frowned. "I should've gone for straight vodka like I was thinking before I got this crap. I'm a terribly sad drunk though, so I figured it would be better to get the light stuff instead."

"Aw yes, how's it feel to be able to legally buy alcohol now?" Logan asked, resting back against the edge of the bed and smiling. He'd been buying alcohol since he was seventeen, looked old enough to fit a fake ID without question from the cashiers.

"I don't know," Violet shrugged, glanced out the window to a light flashing from the ocean solemnly. "I don't feel any different, I guess. I mean, turning twenty-one seems really insignificant compared to everything else that's happened lately, y'know? It's not like everyone gets to remember they were a Goddess once, or be told they get to play a part in basically saving the entire world. Just three months ago I was worried about how I was going to pay my student loans come fall and Danny's fees for soccer season without having to miss school to pick up extra shifts at K-mart, for Gods' sake."

While he understood the meaning behind the rest of her words, at Violet's casual mention of Danny, Logan felt a sudden pang of guilt hit him. He still remembered her tears as she'd talked to her brother on the phone that night they'd gotten home from Chicago, the way she'd looked utterly heart-broken at saying she couldn't come home yet. Again he felt ready just to tell her to get in the car now, take her back to Danny and forget the way she'd looked so broken, so ready to fall apart all because of _him_ and how selfish he was.

But then she laughed and he knew he couldn't do it, not yet, not when her eyes were sparkling like that and she was looking at him with a sense of unbelievable awe. "I never thought I'd come to like my _kidnapper_ so much either."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, raising a brow slyly.

"Oh Christ, Logan," she snorted, looked at his feet as she began to blush furiously. "Do I have to repeat myself about Chicago?"

"I wouldn't mind it," he tried, secretly desperate to hear her say the words again. "If you'd like me to reiterate myself as well, I will."

"I meant everything that happened," she mumbled, and then looked up at him with a suddenly sad gaze. "But I didn't really mean most of what happened when we came home the next day, and I'm sorry for that."

Even if she was being vague, he knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd also known back in that moment that she'd been using him. But he'd been so overwhelmed with guilt and grief himself he hadn't thought better to stop her. She'd been crying and clutching at him and just minutes before he'd been thinking about what would have happened if it had been her in Myrtle's place or if he would've lost her and all he'd wanted was to touch her and hold her and fuck her to make her feel alive, make himself feel alive too.

They'd been using each other in a way, and he'd been more than glad– if not a little embarrassed– Myrtle had woken up and stopped them.

He didn't want to take Violet in that kind of way. She deserved better than a quick fuck on an attic floor. She was a rose petals on the bed kind of girl, in his opinion. It would've been her first time after all, and he should've known better than to be so rough. He still remembers how tight she'd been around his fingers back in Chicago, how shaky and nervous and completely clueless to what she'd wanted. There was still a mark on her collar from where he'd bit her, and even though he felt a possessive swell of pride every time he saw it, he still wondered if it'd been too much for her, especially when he'd tied her hands to the bed… One thing was for sure– if she ever gave him the honor of being her first, then he needed to take better care of her.

But he figured he was getting ahead of himself here. They hadn't even spoken to each other since that first night back at the house, let alone gotten anywhere near intimacy.

"It's alright," he told her after a moment, because really, it was. "I think we both weren't thinking clearly at that point. I'm just sorry I let it go as far as it did. I should've known better. Especially after you'd thought that all I wanted from you was sex."

Her expression fell at the mention of the fight they'd had before leaving Chicago, both in shame and embarrassment clouding her posture. "I'm sorry about that, too. I know you better than that. It's just that Fawn was trying to dig at me during breakfast by dropping hints at Wyatt. I didn't want him to find out even though he did and he said some stuff, but I think that's because, um, well–"

"He has a crush on you?" Logan deadpanned, a bit amused at the way Violet's head snapped up in shock. "Trust me, Violet, I've known since the minute I first came back to the house with you there that the boy's sweet on you. Why wouldn't he be, though? You're kind and smart and funny and beautiful. Anybody would love you."

Violet quickly turned bashful at his comment, shaking her head and looking down at her hands. "You're wrong about that, Logan. I'm really…I'm broken and _selfish_."

"You are," he agreed, frowning when she winced at the statement. "But that's because you're _human_, the most human any of us have ever been. But everyone's broken. And what you have to realize though, Violet, is that everyone is selfish too. General fact aside, you're actually the most self_less_ person I've ever met. How many young women give up their entire lives to take care of their sibling because their parents can't? Fight a kidnapper tooth and nail to get back to that sibling? And then, when they realize just how important a person they are to the world, put others' needs before their own so they can save everyone else? If I was in your shoes Violet, I'd never have done that."

"Yes you would," she said, shaking her head stubbornly. "You're fighting in this war too."

"Because I _have_ to," Logan said. "Kronus is my problem. I'm the one that put him away, and it's my Keys that may break him out; him _and_ all the others. You have a choice in all of this. You could give up, go home right now. You know I can't stop you by this point, so why haven't you run yet?"

"It isn't safe for Danny," Violet said, bit her lip and looked to the light at sea again. Logan realized it was a buoy, floating somberly in the evening tide. "And I can't let a bunch of innocent people die, if the Titans do get out. I may not be Persephone anymore, but she is a _part_ of me, and I feel as responsible for the other Gods' mistakes as everyone else. I won't let them kill the world I grew up in, not if I can somehow stop them before they do."

"Exactly," Logan said, pointing his finger at her cockily after she'd finished. "And _that's_ why you're selfless. That right there. So what if you're in a bit of a rut right now? I would be too if I was stuck in a house full of drama queen God reincarnations and knew my brother was home without me and that the guy I was seeing was kind of an asshole."

The room was silent then for a moment, Violet seeming to consider his words. He hoped they would take, if anything to give her just a bit of solace in herself. She didn't deserve to walk around and wage war on her own body. He'd noticed the fresh cuts, the dark circles under her eyes and the way they were always raw from crying. She may have been eating now, but that didn't mean she was any better. Just because a behavior had ceased didn't mean the thoughts had gone away, and those were the worst part of it all.

"Do you have any siblings?" Violet asked suddenly, taking him off-guard in the silence of the room. "In this life, I mean. Like, biologically."

"No," he said after a moment, remembering the way he'd wanted a baby brother for a real long time when he was a kid, because his parents were never around and he thought with a baby brother he'd have someone there to cure his loneliness and make him feel important, looked up to. "I didn't have any cousins to hang out with, either. Both my parents were only children, so no aunts, no uncles. Both sets of grandparents were dead by the time I was seven."

"I'm sorry," Violet offered, and he shrugged. Old blood dried and gone; he'd gotten used to having a shitty biological family a long time ago. There were other forms of family anyways, and he had a pretty decent one of his own now, especially with Violet in it. "I have a cousin on my dad's side," she said, nose scrunching up irately. "His name's Pete, but he left as soon as he turned eighteen like twelve years ago to travel Europe with a bunch of hippies. I heard he was in a Russian jail about three years ago for stealing from a commune. He called my house for bail money, for Gods' sake…"

"So your dad had a sibling then?" Logan asked, suddenly curious and still a little amused by her description of her cousin who sounded like he belonged on the set of The Hangover rather than in real life. Logan knew a good amount about Violet thanks to having her sit in with him in his office all those afternoons, but he couldn't help the urge to want to know _everything_ about her, even things she didn't know about herself.

"Yeah," Violet nodded. "He had a sister named Sarah. She married some prick that left when Pete was twelve, and then when Pete left her too, no one was there to take care of Sarah after she got Leukemia. Dad brought her to live with us, but she got really bad really quick. I liked her though. She always read me raunchy articles out of Cosmo and taught went on rants about misandry and taught me how to light stuff on fire with a lighter and hairspray."

"Sounds like a classy lady," Logan smirked. He knew he would've liked this Aunt Sarah too, if only for the way she made Violet smile when talking about her.

"Yeah," Violet giggled, the sweet sound drifting off into a sigh. "But see, Aunt Karen– the one that's staying with Danny– she's just really…_boring_. She's an insurance agent that works from home and has six cats. She hates children and spends all her free time watching The Price is Right and making quilt squares. It's why I'm glad Danny at least has Albany there with him, so Aunt Karen won't sewing circle him to death."

"Was your mother like that, before…?" As soon as the question left his mouth, Logan wondered if it was okay to ask it. Apparently by the way Violet yawned and shrugged nonchalantly, got up from her chair to go into the bathroom, left the door open as she ran the tap and began to wash her face while talking to him, it was.

"No, my mom was actually pretty cool before she went nuts," Violet said, splashing cool water over her face. She used a towel to dry off, ducking back into the room to grab a brush from her bag and run it through her hair.

Logan couldn't help but notice the droplets of water sticking to her lashes, the streams running down the soft line of her neck, down her chest towards the valley of her breasts. Over the past month, she'd gained a bit of weight and it looked pretty fantastic on her, he had to admit. Both her hips and breasts had filled out, the curves in her waist more pronounced. He'd caught sight of the plushness of her thighs in her sleep shorts the other day, the curve of her belly when she wore a t-shirt. And though he didn't know if she wanted anything romantic between the two of them still, his fingers itched with the urge to touch her. He craved to map out the new shape of her body with hands and mouth, make her feel how beautiful he thought she was.

"She used to make up stories and tell them to me before bed," Violet yawned, shocking Logan out of his thoughts as she put her brush down on the nightstand and walked to the bed and turned down the covers. He glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly ten at night by now, which explained why she was suddenly ready for bed. He'd gotten home from his business meeting at seven, headed straight for here non-stop. Had they really been talking for two and a half hours? Once again Logan realized how quickly time slipped away when he was with her, and he felt something in his chest akin to ache. "They were pretty great because the princess always saved the prince."

"Yeah?" Logan asked, going over to the other side of the bed to help her fix it for sleep. He figured he'd have to use the floor, which he was okay with. Unless she simply told him to leave, that is. Which, by this point, he still thought she may. "What did Danny think about those stories?"

"Oh, he expects some princess to come and sweep him off his feet now and take him to live in a castle," Violet giggled.

"I'd like to see that," Logan said, watching raptly as Violet quickly and simply shrugged out of her summer dress. He had no time to contemplate her newly exposed skin before she grabbed pajamas from her bag, slipped a nightgown over her head. He licked his lips without thinking about it, watched the blush form on Violet's cheeks as she looked away self-consciously.

"You've seen it all before, so…" she said by way of explanation, climbing into the bed and twisting her fingers around each other. "Well, I mean, I guess I am fatter now, so y'know, whatever." She shrugged then, gave him a joking smile but he knew there was more behind it.

"You're beautiful, Violet," he said, and he meant it. "You're always beautiful to me. But especially now, like this. Just Violet, simple and sweet."

The blush darkened on her cheeks and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, looked away before staring up at him expectantly. "Well, are you just going to stand there all night, or are you going to get in bed?"

He blinked at her in shock a moment, raised a brow before she motioned for him to get in impatiently. Taking the hint, he swiftly stripped from his shoes and socks, his belt and pants and shirt. The bed was soft, dipping low under his weight as he slid in next to her. She was warm against his side, smiling at him from beneath her lashes shyly. It had been so long since he'd gotten to touch her, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her proximity. He'd been so focused on seeing her smile just once, and now that she was he was caught off-guard for how intense the urge to hold her and never let got was.

The only moment he stopped looking at her was to reach over and turn the nightstand lamp off because she was yawning again, before moving his eyes to her face again, the lingering blush there as he tipped her chin up so she'd meet his eye. Keeping her gaze, he leaned in slowly to test her, see if she'd slip away from his advances. But she didn't, let him kiss her, a chaste press of the lips.

When he pulled away she sighed, kept her eyes closed. "Can I ask for another birthday present?" she asked.

"Anything," he breathed.

He'd rip out his heart and give it to her still beating if she asked it of him.

"Will you kiss me again?" Her eyes opened then and she stared at him meaningfully. "And no holding back. I'm not fragile. I want you to kiss me the way _you_ want to kiss me."

She didn't have to ask him twice. He captured her mouth within the next second forcefully, teeth clacking and her breath leaving in a gasp. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sloppy and full of passion as her arms wrapped around his neck and the hand he wasn't holding her face with grabbed her waist, new flesh for purchase there as she easily slid into his lap, legs splayed over his own.

The nightgown she wore rode up on her thighs, left little between them but their underwear. He groaned as she fumbled to get her bearings and accidentally pressed against his lap. It'd been too long since he'd kissed her like this, and instantly he was aching for her. All control he had slipped and he pushed her down hard against him, smirked at her little squeak of pleasure and traced over her tongue with his, bit at her bottom lip until he had her panting.

Gods, he never want this to stop. She seemed aware of it too, tugging at his hair with her fingers, breaking them apart insistently. A thread of spit hung between them still and she wiped it away with the back of her hand embarrassingly, hiding her face in his chest after a moment.

He exhaled through his nose, trying not to be too aware of how warm and soft she was against him, or how she smelled or the way he could still taste her– cheap wine and chocolate cupcake– on his tongue. He was already frustrated enough and didn't need to add to it. If anything, he was a bit embarrassed himself by the way she could affect him so easily. He'd forgotten how she made him feel like a horny teenaged boy again, about ready to cum in his shorts just from making out with her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled after a moment. "I– can we take it slow from now on?"

"Anything you want, love," he promised her. Even if she never wanted him to touch her again, he'd adhere. Not without overwhelming difficulty, but damn it her cared for her more than anything, and whatever made her happy was what he'd do.

Even if, he realized with a sense of vague amazement, it meant letting her go.

_If you love something, you have to let it go_, is what they always say, and now that he actually knew what true love felt like, he understood. She was everything to him, mattered more than his own sense of self. If letting her go was what made her happy, then he would do it.

But he was getting ahead of himself again. Right now he had her here in his arms, snuggling against his side and whispering soft stories her mother had once told her about a goofy knight who'd gotten captured by the dragon and the princess came in wielding a sword to save him. She slowly talked herself to sleep as he listened in rapt attention to the sound of her voice, the secret wonder she had for everything.

When she yawned and trailed off into sleepy silence, he kissed her forehead softly, realizing again just how much he loved this girl and always would. "Happy birthday, Violet," he whispered, solemn light floating endlessly atop the ocean drifting through the window.


	40. The Return

**A/N**: This chapter is once again dedicated to my amazing and beautiful friend Anna. She gave me the best birthday present ever (I'm now legal in the U.S. woohoo) in the form of some beautiful fanart of Logan and John! You should check it out on her art blog under the name Slaymate on Tumblr (slaymate dot tumblr dot com). The rest of her drawings are pretty freaking amazing too, just like her!

Warning that there's a bit of adult content in this chapter. It's lead me to the conclusion that I am going to change this story to Mature rating, because sex ain't for kids, folks (and yes I can say that now considering I'm a legal adult so).

* * *

Logan was the first to wake the next morning, his arm numb where it rested under a snoozing Violet.

Despite himself, a lazy smile captured at the corners of his mouth, drowsiness making his mind hazy. The sun had just risen, slipping through the window and over the bedspread which Violet had pulled to her side of the bed in the night. She was a bit of a blanket hog, but he didn't mind. They'd curled their bodies so close in sleep he was thoroughly drenched in sweat, skin sticky. It was as if they'd been trying to press themselves into one being, by how tight she was wrapped around him now, legs tangled with his and arms clutching at the arm of his own he had wrapped beneath her shoulders.

She was snoring softly, little heavy breaths that made his flesh prick wherever they landed. Strawberry curls looked like a nest around her head, nightgown sticking to slick back. She liked to sleep on her stomach, face pressed into his arm at the crook of elbow. Gently, he reached over and brushed her bangs away from her face, chuckling when she gave a soft mewl.

For a while he simply let himself lay there, stare up at the ceiling and as the feeling of her washed over him. It had been somewhere short of a miracle she'd allowed him to kiss her last night, let alone slept by his side so trustingly. He could get used to this sort of thing. It was different from Chicago somehow, no more secrets between them so the air felt lighter.

He couldn't help but think of a day not long ago in his office, her hanging off the edge of the leatherback she always sat in, him going over business papers of a mass shipment made to a foreign country where there had been a large flood that had taken many a life. Violet had looked up from the book in her lap long enough to study him, thinking that just because his eyes were busy elsewhere he couldn't tell what she was doing.

"What is it, Violet?" he had eventually asked, catching her off-guard shown by the way she had jumped in her seat.

"Nothing," she'd mumbled, looked back down at her book and shook her head.

He'd sighed, taken off his reading glasses and turned his gaze upon her. "Tell me."

"You'll think it's stupid," she'd said, signature blush rising up her cheeks.

"I hardly ever think what you have to say is stupid," he'd said honestly, tilting his head. "Come on, spill."

Marea had lifted her head from where she was sitting astride Violet as the girl had shifted in her chair, turned to face Logan fully and licked her lips, considering how she wanted to phrase her words. Finally, she'd said, "Do you believe in soul mates?"

"What?" he'd asked dumbly, caught off-guard by her question.

"Soul mates," she'd reiterated. "Do you believe in them?"

"I have no choice," he'd said, folding his hands against the desktop thoughtfully. "It's true that the mortals were built with two sets of everything. Zeus split them apart in fear they would overthrow him as he did to Kronus, and Kronus to Ouranos before him."

"But that's simply the mortals," Violet had mumbled, twisting her fingers together in knots. She hadn't met his eye since the start of the conversation, seeming almost afraid to. "What about for the Gods?"

"No," Logan had said, as honest an answer as he could give. "We were created whole."

"I never said you weren't whole without a soul mate," she'd mumbled, pitch in her voice taking a sour tone before leveling. He'd quirked a brow at that, wondering why she'd suddenly seemed so bitter but respecting her enough not to ask. "It's just…I keep getting these flashes of memory, from Persephone. And I remember Orpheus and Eurydice, and how in love they were and the pardon Persephone asked of Hades for them. Eurydice wasn't a mortal, but a nymph, which if I'm not mistaken is the next thing next to a God, even more so than demigods. And, well, she loved Orpheus as much as he loved her and…" She'd trailed off, shook her head. "Never mind, it's senseless."

"It isn't," Logan had argued, wanting to know what she'd had to say. Over the past few weeks she'd grown on him and he'd found himself craving not just her company in manner, but words too. "Please, say you what you're thinking. I'm not going to judge you for it, Violet."

She'd finally looked at him then, a bit of uncertainty in her spring eyes. "Do you think Hades and Persephone were soul mates, and that's why we're drawn to each other, because there are still pieces of them left inside of us?"

He hadn't known what to say to that, quite uncomfortable and almost afraid of the real answer, so instead he'd simply shrugged and said, "It's a possibility," and had gone back to work.

Now, he thinks, she'd been right in the sentiment. That Gods _did_ have soul mates, and she was his and he was (how he hoped) hers. But even if it had been Hades and Persephone that had drawn them together in the first place, that had only been a part of what she was to him now. Everything he felt for her was as himself, as Logan. And he felt not for the woman she had been, but the one she was _now_. Violet was a breed all her own– the strongest, most human parts of Persephone and also the kindest, strangest creature Logan had ever had the annoying pleasure of coming in contact with.

As he laid there and watched her sleep he couldn't help but wonder how in such a short time she'd wrapped him around her so completely, until she mattered more than anything. He'd rather of faced torture than see her hurt, because that was an idea worse than death by this point. All he wanted was for her to be happy, even if that meant him not to be in the equation. If she wished for him to go once all of this war business was over, he would.

Though he knew it would kill him to do so.

Sighing, he soon realized he couldn't lay here forever unless he wanted his arm to fall off from how numb it was becoming. Gently, so as not to wake her, he slipped out of Violet's grasp and stood from the bed, stretching pinched limbs. She simply rolled over at his absence, mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled into the pillows. He smiled, checked his cell phone where it sat in the pocket of his pants folded on the bench at the end of the bed to make sure he had no missed messages before going into the bathroom and turning the shower on, ready to rinse the sweat from his skin.

The hot water felt decent after the sudden chill of the air-conditioned room on his skin once he'd slipped out of bed. The nymphs that had built this place in hope of making common world revenue nearly two hundred years ago had revamped the old cottage house with every modern feature as the generations grew, and they obviously liked the air very cold now that they had access to a device that would allow it.

When Thaddeus had mentioned such a venue as somewhere safe for Violet to get away to as a birthday present, Logan had been hesitant, but now he was glad for the suggestion, as this place seemed to have calmed Violet considerably. Her anxieties had been full-mounted these past three weeks, though she did well of burying them under a numbed sadness. He couldn't help but think that was the worst part, that she'd rather feel nothing at all than the nerves and guilt flowing through her skin. Logan actually knew a fair amount about depression– diagnosed and medicated with it as a teen just to calm the unbidden rage it had evoked in him– and one of the facts was that it makes you lose who you are within the depths of it, and the thought of losing Violet to some gray cloud in her head hadn't been an option, not for him.

While he knew she couldn't magically get better, or that anyone could fix it for her, it was nice that he could at least help take the edge off. He still thought she probably would've felt even better coming home if she'd never had his company during this trip, but she'd seemed so desperate for him to stay last night, and the way she'd asked him to kiss her like he meant it, so sure of the request…

He couldn't help but slip into memories of last night, that night in Chicago when she'd let him touch her. The past three weeks it'd been a constant loop in his head the way she'd felt under his hands, how she'd sounded when she'd moaned for him, how she'd cried his name when he'd made her come. He touched his swelling arousal with the thought of what Violet's little fingers had felt like around his cock, uncertain and flighty until she'd touched _herself_ and then had been more sure as she'd worked at him, kissing with soft awe and smile.

This morning he'd woken up hard at her scent, the feel of her skin. The only thing that had stopped him from kissing her awake (and maybe not even kissing just her mouth, at that) had been how peaceful she'd looked in sleep, how innocent. But Gods, the things he wanted to do to that innocence. She'd seemed so eager under his instructions the last time he felt he had a good idea of what she'd want. What would drive her wild. He could still taste her on his tongue if he thought about it hard enough, sweet and musky and completely made of spring.

The sound of the shower curtain opening behind him startled Logan so much he nearly slipped where he stood in the tub, stopped mid-stroke and braced both hands against the wall to look over his shoulder with wide eyes as Violet climbed into the tub with him, naked and blushing from head-to-toe. When she noticed how aroused he was though, she gasped, bit her lip and glanced up to meet his eyes with a small shrug.

"Oops?" she asked, bashful as ever. "Sorry, I didn't–"

He kissed her soundly, got his fingers tangled in the sweat-dampened curls of her hair and pulled her to him. The press of her stomach against his erection made him groan, deepen the kiss for all he was worth. She was so fucking _soft_ and plush and warm.

When she broke away from him it took restraint not to growl and force her into another kiss, but Logan waited, trying to gouge her reaction from the bright look in her eyes. "This was a bad idea," she finally said, breathless.

"Why?" he asked, voice sounding gravely like the raw way he felt all over at her proximity.

"Well," she murmured, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists where his fingers were still grabbing at the sides of her head. "I thought perhaps we'd just shower, but it's obvious I interrupted something."

He wasn't timid in admitting, "I was thinking about you."

The blush tingeing her cheeks darkened and she looked down as she whispered, "I think about you, too."

This time he kissed her harder than the last, let go of her hair to grab at the now ample swells of her ass, pull one of her legs up around his hip. The little whine that escaped her at the movement drove him wild, bowing into her with full intent to get her to make all those sounds of hers he liked all over again, head swimming with possibilities of how to do so.

A loud ringing thrilled the air then, had him groaning and pressing his forehead to hers with a delayed sigh as she tried to escape his grasp. "It could be Thaddeus," she murmured, blinking up at him with blown eyes and a swollen mouth.

"Fuck him," Logan argued blatantly. "We're busy. He can wait."

"_Logan_," she huffed, making him roll his eyes and sigh once more.

"I'll get it," he said after the phone rang again. "You stay here and finish showering."

"Okay," she murmured, letting him leave with a little wave and a smile.

He couldn't help but smile back at her, even if he was pissed they'd been interrupted._ Something about us and shower sex, man,_ he noted, as the last time they'd been interrupted it had been in a bathtub, by Fawn no less. Frowning, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the bedroom to grab the track phone out of Violet's bag just before the call went to voicemail.

"Hello?" he asked impatiently once he'd pressed the _answer_ button.

"_Logan?_"

"Yes, Thaddeus. What do you want?"

"_Man, don't tell me you and queeny– damn, so _that's_ where you rushed off to! I _told_ Chad! Shithead better give me my twenty fucking dollars or I'll_–"

"Thaddeus," Logan growled, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. His thoughts were still on Violet, naked and wet and waiting for him in the shower. "I don't have time for your ramblings. Violet's safe, if that is what you are checking on. Now if you will excuse me–"

"_Wait!_" the man called, making Logan grit his teeth in impatience. "_Boss, listen, I was gonna call you next, but since I got you and you're with Violet, well, you need to know that Hecate's due home in about three hours. She got a flight out so she could come back for Violet's birthday, but I guess the only one to Connecticut wasn't 'til this morning. Anyways, she'll be home soon and I'm sure Violet wants to see her, right?_"

Logan pursed his lips, almost didn't want to admit it when he said, "Yes, I'm sure she does." The last three weeks had been hard for Violet and he had no doubts Hecate's absence had simply made things worse. This would be a nice birthday present, he figured, to let Violet see the woman who had become her substitute mother after nearly a month apart.

"I'll tell her, then. Expect us back soon," Logan said, pinched the bridge of his nose at the prospect of having to leave this place that had felt kind of like a safe haven for them. It was as if they were in a little bubble and he was afraid the moment they were home it would pop. "Make sure someone's at the airport to pick Hecate up, Thaddeus."

"_Sure thing, boss,_" Thaddeus said. "_But hey, promise me one thing, alright?_"

"Okay?" Logan said, brows arching at the strange twist in conversation. Thaddeus never asked for anything unless his paycheck was late, and even then he more demanded rather than asked.

"_Just…treat her right, okay Logan? Violet's a sweet girl, stop hurting her._"

Thaddeus didn't wait for a response; instead he hung up and left Logan to the jarring silence of the other line. For a moment Logan did nothing but blink, guilt stabbing at his chest before he shook his head and pressed the _end_ button. After all, Thaddeus was right. Violet _was_ a sweet girl and Logan _had_ hurt her and he couldn't keep doing it. That was not fair, nor what she deserved.

Wiping a tired hand over his face, Logan went back into the bathroom, his earlier excitement forgotten and replaced with a dull thrum of ache and affection as he pried back the curtain and stepped into the tub with Violet again. There was no kissing, no fevered touches. Instead he warmly helped her wash her hair and rubbed her shoulders as she grasped onto him tightly, humming into his chest.

They stayed like that until the water grew cold before climbing out, Logan wrapping her in a towel and simply rolling his eyes at her when she protested that he didn't have to wait on her, saying that he _wanted_ to. He liked feeling as if he could take care of her, even in such a simple way. Violet had been taking care of other people her entire life if her love for her family was any indication– she deserved a break every now and then.

"Hec– Evangeline's coming home today," Logan murmured as he began to run a brush through her hair, marveling at the way the curls bounced back into place. He'd dated a girl with curly hair a whole of once in his life, back in high school, but that had been for a short three weeks and she'd never let him touch it. Every other girl he'd been with had had straight hair, either naturally or by their design. Since meeting Violet he'd quickly come to realize he kind of liked curls better– easier to tangle your fingers in. Plus, they were _Violet_'s curls, and anything hers had him entranced.

"You can call her Hecate now," Violet murmured. She swiveled where she was sitting in front of him on the edge of the bed to catch his eye. "It was kind of injudicious of me to ask you didn't at first. I was avoiding the truth, and since it's what she prefers to be called, I shouldn't ignore things anymore."

"Okay," he said, watched the pull of the muscles in her shoulders as she turned again. Her bones weren't as prominent anymore, her skin was stronger like the rest of her now. He was glad for that. "Do you want to go back and see her? I can book another night, if you don't."

"I thought you need reservations," Violet laughed half-heartedly, a secret blush rising up her spine.

"I have my ways," Logan murmured, leaning down to kiss the dip of her neck. She shivered and her smirked. "Nymphs can be very accommodating hosts."

"Nymphs?" Violet asked, then turned once more, rather abruptly, with her brows drawing together. "So _that's_ why you said I'd be so safe here! Why the gun, then?"

"Just in case," he shrugged. "I wasn't sure you knew how to use it, but it's threat enough just putting it on display. Saw it in your bag, by the way– sneaky."

"Christ," Violet mumbled, shaking her head and absently tracing the scar on his left forearm, the one he'd had since birth thanks to Persephone's brutality those some millennia ago when she'd first resisted Hades' capture. "I feel like I'm in a bad gangster movie, but with _magic_. Wouldn't producers get a kick out of this one?"

"I'd pay to see it," he chuckled, pressing lips to her forehead. "So, you want to stay with the Nymphs or go home?"

"Well, for plot reasons I would say stay here. I'm sure viewers get a kick out of the romance." The coy smile she intoned was enough to make heat flare in the pit of his stomach, recognize the way she was so very close and how he could just flip her over and get lost in her… "But, I want to see Evangeline." She got off of his lap and left him there staring longingly at the space she'd occupied, dressing in clothes she'd brought with her from home. "I'd like to stay with you and never let all of _this_," she motioned between them, dreamy air and smile, "end. But I've missed Evangeline so much…"

"I understand," he said, standing and beginning to dress in his clothes from yesterday. They were clean enough for the drive back home, he figured. "Besides, who said '_this_' can't continue once we get home?"

Her blush was all the answer he needed.

* * *

It took no time at all for her to pack, and they were ready for check-out by nine.

Gladys smiled at them as she took the keys to the room back, promised them salvation any time they needed it. "Are you sure you won't stay for breakfast?" she asked, patting Violet's hand encouragingly. "You could use a little meat on your bones, sweetheart."

Violet grimaced and Logan rubbed her back softly in comfort. "No thanks," Violet said, falling into his embrace. "We really need to get back. A friend's coming home and I don't want to be late."

"A friend?" asked Gladys, all eager amber eyes and honey gray hair. "As in another _Goddess_?"

Logan shot her a bit of a warning look but the nymph ignored him, eyes trained on Violet. "Yes," Violet said sheepishly. "Thank you again for you hospitality. It was lovely."

"Anytime, your Highness," said Gladys, making Violet shift uncomfortably. "The Gods are always welcomed in my establishment."

Logan insisted Violet ride home with him after that and that he'd have someone else come to pick up the car. It took a half-lie about being able to get them home quicker to have her agree. Truthfully, he just wanted as much alone time with her as he could get before they went back home and everyone else tried to steal away her attentions.

He was a selfish man, and not past the point of admitting it.

* * *

The ride was filled with small talk of music and books– both of them ironically shared a love of J.D. Salinger and she made him promise to pick up a copy of an album by a band called Mumford and Sons, insisting he'd like it by way of the other groups he usually listened to– and one stop at a gas station where he made her get something to eat. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a granola bar, some kind of juice, a bag of fruit snacks. He picked a packaged bagel and coffee, commenting on how hyped she was going to be from all the sugar in her choices.

"All the better to annoy you with," she grinned, popping a fruit snack in her mouth as they drove the rest of the way home.

* * *

The front door was unlocked for them when they got there, Logan helping Violet through the door with a hand on the small of her back for one last desperate attempt at contact. He was afraid that the moment they stepped inside the house she'd for some reason hate him again, and all of this between them would be over.

That wasn't the case though, because with the entry hall bare and Marea barking excitedly somewhere in the house, Wyatt chasing after her as the dog ran to greet her owner, Violet took opportunity of her and Logan's time alone to turn in his embrace, smile, kiss him with sweet intention.

When she pulled away he asked, "What was that for?" in astonishment.

"For everything," she said. "Thank you for my birthday gift, Logan. And for giving me my space before then. And for taking care of me. And for taking care of Danny while I'm not home, even though you don't have to. Thank you for being _you_." She kissed him again, let it linger until there was motion at the top of the steps leading to the second floor.

Logan missed her the moment she moved away for him, accepting Wyatt's hug as the boy stumbled down the steps and lifted her off the ground to twirl her happily, Violet's laugh and Marea's excited barking filling the hall. Logan stomped down the jealousy in his chest at Wyatt and Violet's intimacy, reminding himself they were simply _friends_. Even so, he couldn't help but frown just slightly.

Wyatt welcomed him home though, no animosity in his tone. And Logan shared the greeting back, because Wyatt _was_ his nephew after all, and the whole jealousy qualm was quite fucking childish, when Logan stopped to think about it. "Where are the others?" Logan asked after giving Wyatt a warm clap on the back, smirking as the boy jumped a little before regaining his composure. Wyatt had always been a jittery kid, a trait Logan preferred Wyatt have than the anger issues Logan himself had had at Wyatt's age.

"They're pickin' up Aunt Ang, still," Wyatt shrugged, glanced at Violet who was on the floor with Marea scratching the dog's stomach lovingly. Charlotte had been right when she'd suggested Logan get Violet an animal companion to ease her loneliness at the house, and Artemis had pulled through on the delivery. "Myrtle's in the library though. Somethin' about an old book she wanted to find? I dunno."

Logan nodded as Violet perked up at the same time as Marea, straining to listen past them. "They're in the driveway," she said, and sure enough the sound of car doors slamming could be heard outside.

Thaddeus and Chad escorted in a tired seeming Hecate not a minute later. The woman looked aged a good ten years, the gray in her hair more apparent as were the lines on her face. But that wasn't what shocked Logan most of all. Rather, it was the way her eyes had gone from their once deep forest green to an almost golden color, shining under the chandelier light of the entry hall.

The woman gave good welcome, strong-voiced in spite of her battered appearance. She offered Logan a small hug, feeling almost fevered hot through the thin fabric of her dress. He stared after her with raised brow as she moved to Wyatt, giving him a large hug before going to Violet, pulling the girl into an almost suffocating embrace.

"My little one is so grown!" Hecate announced, drawing back to look Violet over. "You appear more a woman than when I left you, Violet! Gods only know how strong you're becoming."

Violet blushed, as did she again when Hecate pulled out a small box from her purse, topped with a pink bow. "Oh, Evangeline, you didn't have to," Violet said, reaching for the box hesitantly. "But thank you, I'm sure I'll love it."

"Well open it and see, child," said Hecate, and Logan wondered if he was the only one that could hear her voice slipping into three tones.

Perhaps not, by the strange face Violet pulled before blinking her expression away, opening the box with cautious fingers. She gasped then, pulled out a necklace of golden chain and golden amulet attached. There were two emeralds on either side of the golden circle, shaped like stars. The amulet itself had a carving inlaid upon it, the image of a hound inside a pentagram.

"Oh, Evangeline, it's beautiful," Violet said, but Logan could tell she was uncomfortable with the expensive looks of it.

Hecate seemed oblivious though, a bit unlike her as she chuckled and had Violet turn around so she could clasp the necklace into place.

"I think John mindfucked her or something," Thaddeus mumbled from Logan's left. "She also said she found the Erinyes. Maybe all that magic use just drove her a bit insane?"

Logan nodded, watched as Violet touched the charm and her hands began to shake. "That necklace is enchanted. Does Hecate know?"

"It's got her symbols on it," Thaddeus said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and putting one unlit between his lips. "I bet it's protection for your girl, what do you think?"

"Let's hope so," Logan said. "I want to hear what all happened while Hecate was away. I don't trust John, or even that Janet woman quite yet."

"She seemed nice to me," Thaddeus said.

"That's because you thought she was attractive," Logan snorted. He liked Janet well enough, as well as the God she'd once been, but until he really _knew_ her it just wasn't safe to throw trust away. Not with war looming on the horizon and the blood of two innocent people on his hands, thanks to Selene and Helios. "Remember how that turned out with Eris three centuries ago?"

Thaddeus' expression fell into a grimace and he visibly cringed at the mention of his failed affair. "Don't fuckin' remind me."

"Try and talk to Hecate more," Logan said simply, staring at the woman's newly golden eyes with scrutiny. "We just got her back, and I don't want to lose her so soon."


	41. The Knock at the Door

**A/N**: Hello everyone, I just wanted to take a few moments to answer a question I received in a guest review from **Poltargyst** (idk how to pm guests of if that's even a thing so yeah) who asked, "_Are you into Astrology? I ask because you have Violet's birthday as __September 12__, which makes her a Virgo. There are those who consider Demeter as__the goddess associated with Virgo despite the fact that Demeter wasn't a__virgin goddess, but Virgo is often depicted holding wheat, making Virgo an__Earth goddess. So by making Violet a Virgo, you've made her a daughter of__Demeter astrologically. Was this intentional or coincidence?_"

I wanted to answer by saying that yes, love, I am very into astrology, and I actually _did_ do that on purpose, though until now I didn't know it had such rich detail behind it, so I must thank you very much for informing me! The original reasoning behind Violet being born in September was simply because I knew that Persephone was associated with the sign Virgo. I know she is also associated with Taurus, but I see her acting more like a Virgo in personality traits, at least in Violet's case. If you look close enough beneath the surface of Violet's character, she fits the Virgo's personality a lot (i.e. the over-analyzing, the need to feel right, the timid and reserved front yet wild inside, the honesty and the inner-struggles). It is the same ideal with Logan who was born in the range of Scorpio (November 1st) considering the fact not only is it the astrological sign that Hades is identified with, but that Logan himself is very much the typical Scorpio in many ways. In fact, just about _every_ character's birthday means something to their old identity, and their new.

Thank you again to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and if there are any other questions anyone has, feel free to ask. It makes my day to receive and answer them.

* * *

Violet woke up pleasantly warm and curled around another body, the feeling still jagged as she let her eyes slip open only to find Logan staring at her, his fingers dancing circles over the play of her shoulder blades.

"Hi," she said shyly, tucking her face back into his chest in fear of morning breath and the way her hair probably looked like a bird's nest.

They'd been sharing a bed since they'd gotten home from the bed and breakfast two days ago. At first she'd tried staying in her own room, only to find she hadn't been able to sleep and had gone wondering around the house aimlessly until running into Logan in the kitchen, who'd been eating a bowl of cereal and reading a book on centrifugal force _in the dark_ like a crazy man and had scared the living daylights out of her.

"I think your insomnia's rubbed off on me," she'd said after regaining her composure, hands rubbing at her arms in the air-conditioned cold of the house. It was becoming more fall, less summer, and she could feel the chill sinking into her bones. He'd simply grinned back at her in reply before ushering her off to his room where they'd proceeded to make out like horny teenagers for a good hour until finally she'd been warm again and sleep had consumed her, dreams of fairy floss and spoiled pomegranates.

Last night had been much the same, though she'd come straight to his room after finishing getting ready for bed, careful not to let anyone hear her and shushing Marea when the dog had grumbled about having to share a bed with two people instead of just one.

The chuckle he gave her now resonated through his chest, thrumming in time with her pulse. "Hello," he said, leaning down to try and kiss her but she evaded him, muttering about needing to brush her teeth first. "Do you think I give a shit?" he asked, caught her off-guard enough that when he tried to kiss her this time she let him, smiling when he pulled back and sighed. "Gods, I really want you right now," he said, which shocked her even more than anything else he'd said so far.

"Why?" she asked despite herself, propping her body up on her elbows with straining curiosity.

Logan shrugged, gave her a heart-melting grin. "You look so sweet in the mornings. What I wouldn't give to wake you up by going down on you. I think you'd like it– probably would wake up the moment I made you come for me."

The blush that rose to her cheeks was near stifling, enough she rolled out of bed with a lame excuse and nearly tripped over the comforter, Marea kicking her legs out where she still laid at Logan's feet and grumbling at having been disturbed by her owner's jostling. Violet flushed even more as Logan began to laugh at her, watching as she pulled her shirt farther down over her hips and slipped out the door to get ready for the day, embarrassed at how tipsy his words had made her head feel.

Wyatt hadn't left for school yet by the time she made it downstairs for breakfast. There was a paper on the table in front of him, which she guessed was for Evangeline who was busy cooking at the stove and humming in some weird language Violet knew definitely wasn't English or Greek. The woman had been acting strange since coming back from Chicago, and a call to Charlotte had said that she'd seemed funny since preforming the spell to find the Erinyes. Charlotte had asked the Fates if they knew what was wrong and Tamara had left them with the boggle of an answer that magic used you a lot more than you used it.

The best everyone could hope for was that as long as Evangeline didn't try using any divinity for a while, she'd maybe be back to normal sooner or later. _Maybe. _

Violet rubbed at the amulet around her neck worriedly then, having been an accessory on her person since the moment Evangeline had handed it to her. It was a seal of protection, Evangeline had later said at dinner, everyone asking questions about her stay in Chicago and what crazy things John Storm had put her through. The amulet made it so Violet's divinity would go unnoticed by anyone around her. Gods had a certain _pull_ to one another, but the amulet made sure hers would disappear.

"Isn't that the guy running against the president this year?" Wyatt asked suddenly, shocking Violet out of her inner musings. She let go of the amulet and looked to where Wyatt's fingers was pointing to a picture on the front page of the newspaper, his lips pursed. "I'm supposed to write a current events article about him for my American Government class. He looks like a total douchenozzle, if you ask me."

"He _is_," Violet said, grimacing. She'd managed to keep up with the news since arriving at the Fairgrave house, and with each week the elections kept getting more and more ridiculous. "He's totally against equal rights. All about the white rich male power. _Just_ what we need leading the country."

"Fucking politians," Wyatt said, frowning. "Can't believe I gotta write a frikin' mini-essay about this shit. I mean if _that_ guy gets elected, it really _will_ be the end of the world."

"Oh Wyatt," said Evangeline then, carrying over two plates of French toast and bacon. Violet thanked her immensely for the choice. "Are you going on one of your Nostradamus rants again?"

"Can't help it Aunt Ang," Wyatt said, dribbling syrup onto the corner of his mouth as he took an extra-large first bite of his breakfast. "It's all that anyone talks about. Worse than Y-two-K. I mean, even the damned Myans called this one."

"They just ran out of room on their calendars," Evangeline said, gave Wyatt a playful roll of her eyes and a smile. "You musn't let it get to you. The Gods never said the world would end, so it won't."

"But Jesus did!" Wyatt exclaimed, taking one last bite of his breakfast before grabbing his backpack from the floor and walking towards the door so he wouldn't be late for school. "So how do you explain that?"

Violet giggled at Evangeline's amused expression as they watched the boy go, before she turned back to her breakfast and Evangeline began to clean-up the kitchen. There was nothing but the silence and the clinking of dishes for a bit, Violet's fork scraping against her plate. And then suddenly, Evangeline turned off the tap, dropped the dish in her hand into the sink, and excused herself, walking out of the room with no further explanation.

Blinking, Violet looked after where the woman had disappeared before glancing to the still full sink and the unread paper on the table. Her mouth opened uncertainly– should she call after Evangeline and ask what was wrong?

The words died on her tongue though as Logan came into the kitchen then, dressed in a pressed suit and tie. It was enough to hold her attention when she asked, "You're going out today?" because that was always what dressing so formally meant for him.

"Yes," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the morning batch Evangeline had made before her strange departure. "I have a meeting with the head of the Internationals Department in Hartford. I should be home before Wyatt gets back from school."

So Violet would be left on her own today, then.

"Okay," she said, trying not to frown as she stood from the table to put her plate in the sink. She bit her lip at the half-washed dishes there. Evangeline had been in the middle of drying a bowl and just _left_ which was so unlike her; she always finished the tasks she'd started. With a troubled shake of the head, Violet finished the wiping the bowl clean and started to wash the other things in the sink. "Be safe on the freeway," she said to Logan after a moment, blowing a piece of bang out of her face. "Your lead foot is going to get you in trouble one day."

A heat pressed into her back then, lips on her neck. "Whatever you say, love."

She shivered, not from the draft in the room or the fall air nipping at her insides. "You haven't called me that for a while."

"Love?" he questioned. She nodded. "Do you like it?" Again, she nodded, and felt him smile against her skin. "Good."

He helped her finish the dishes despite her protests she could manage on her own, kissed her soundly tasting like sugar granules and coffee before he left. She stared after him for a while, giving a soft sigh at the thought of being alone for the day. Once, she had found solace and being on her own. Now, she missed Logan every second it was gone. What a strange feeling that was.

Fingering her amulet absently, she once again looked to Evangeline's disbanded paper on the table, lips pursing. If magic took this much out of them, why were the other Gods so dead-set on using it as often as possible? Violet hardly thought the benefits outweighed the damages. What good was having allies when they were all brain-fried from trying to find more reinforcement?

Then again, Logan had admitted everyone else had seemed fine after performing the spell– albeit a bit drained– so why not Evangeline? Thaddeus had surmised for everyone that it was because finding three people at once had been too much of a shove. He'd talked to both Janet and Charlotte on the phone, trying to see if there was any fishy business going on with John Storms during the ceremony, but they'd both reported none. And then Charlotte had reiterated what the Fates had said and Thaddeus had accepted Evangeline simply being a bit divinity-fried for an answer.

Violet really, really hoped that was the case and that the spell hadn't somehow hurt Evangeline permanently.

After there was no more tidying-up to be done in the kitchen, Violet decided on going off to find Marea, who'd remained sleeping at the end of Logan's bed the entire time.

"Lazy little thing." Violet rolled her eyes, scratched Marea behind the ears and took her back down for breakfast.

She didn't see much of anyone for the rest of the day, after Logan left. Thaddeus and Chad went into town right after she'd fixed them breakfast to run errands and Wyatt had to stay at school until four because he'd managed a detention slip in his first month (something Logan was none too pleased about). Myrtle had been confining herself to her room lately, which wasn't that unusual, but Violet kind of missed her presence in a way as she sat by herself in the sitting room at a cross between reading a book and staring out the window.

The fact that Evangeline had all but vanished was still weighing on her. Violet searched the house for the woman, but couldn't find hint of her presence. At last she checked the basement door, finding it locked as usual, but as she'd never heard Evangeline leave the house, Violet figured that had to be where Evangeline had disappeared to. She was half tempted to get back into the passageways behind the walls of the house, get down to the basement from there and find out what Evangeline was doing down in that dark and foreboding place. Violet knew as much that the woman shouldn't be using magic– it had already taken toll on her enough.

It was ten past three when Violet was halfway to the library with her mind made up to make sure Evangeline wasn't up to anything, that she heard the sound of front doorbell ringing.

For a moment, Violet froze. No one ever came to the house, except for that one time John had, towing along a broken Edgar. What if it was John now? How could she handle him on her own? And what if it was no one she knew at all? What if it was a _trick_? Logan had said no mortal could get past the wards without invitation, and even the presence of Gods would alert Evangeline the house's borders had been breached. What creature could slip through that undeterred?

What if, Violet wondered in hollow fear as the thoughts kept building in her head, Helios and Selene back again to finish what they'd started, giving the civility of at least knocking before the slit her throat like they had Lila and Slater?

She could still see the blood if she stared at the entry hall's floors hard enough.

Suddenly her hands were shaking. Marea was barking from the next room, but not menacingly. Rather the dog sounded almost _excited_. It couldn't be someone bad then, if the dog was excited, could it? With furrowed brows, extra caution, and thumping heart, Violet walked down the hall into the entry foyer, grabbing onto the archway for support as she tried to blink away adrenaline. Marea was hopping around by the front door, tail wagging.

_That's strange,_ Violet thought, tilting her head to the side. _Maybe Thaddeus and Chad just forgot their keys…_

"Answer it, child."

It was three voices that said this to her, three voices like ice and time and fire. Violet whirled to find Evangeline behind her, face stoic yet warm.

"Evangeline!" Violet cried, heart in her throat. "You scared me!"

"Answer it, child," the woman said again instead of acknowledging Violet's last words. Her eyes were on the door, burning gold. "Answer it."

"But I don't–" Violet shut her mouth with a _clack_ at Evangeline's tilted brow, the secret smile on the corners of the woman's bowed lips.

Taking a deep, rattling breath, Violet turned again towards the front door. The patron behind it had given up on the bell and instead had begun to knock, a heavy staccato that permeated the room and bounced off the marble of the floors jaggedly. Swallowing down fear, Violet walked to the structure and stretched up on her toes to look out the small window there, prepared for the worst.

And the beings she found on the front porch had all the breath leaving her lungs.

She'd long been given the key-codes of the house– Logan trusted her not to abuse them. It took two tries with how badly her fingers were trembling as she punched in numbers, but then the security system gave a happy chirp and Violet was yanking the door open, Marea going wild as it slammed back against the wall. Violet surged forwards then without thought, her arms wrapping around the two forms before her with a squeak. They embraced her back, no falsehoods in their touch.

It was _them_– Danny and Albany, two people she'd felt she'd never see again.

But they were here, they were _real_, and Violet had no idea how she was going to be to let go of them for a second time.


	42. The Goodbye

Logan arrived home at the exact hour he'd said he would, just in time to find an unfamiliar pick-up in the driveway.

Something inside of him began to panic then, wondering how anyone had been able to get past the wards around the house without an invitation and coming to the conclusion it was no one good. He parked his car and turned off the ignition, slamming the door shut and rushing into the house. The first word to leave his lips was a call of Violet's name.

He had to know she was safe.

But she didn't answer him; instead he was met with silence and genuine fear in his blood. If Violet was hurt, if _anything_ had happened to her–

"She is in the kitchen, my Lord." He turned to find Hecate leaning against the sitting room's door, her eyes the eerie golden color he'd come to be weary of. She smiled at him, curled lips as her form wavered between maiden and crone. "I'm afraid, my Lord, nymphs have more sway upon the wards of the house than I'd thought."

Brows furrowing, Logan unclenched his hands from the fists they'd unconsciously formed. "Is Violet safe? Is she okay?"

"Of course, my Lord," Hecate nodded, drifting closer to him with the graceful movers of a dancer, her skirt swaying around her calves in an almost inhuman way. "Why shouldn't she be, when at last she has been reunited with her brother?"

Air rushed out of his lungs, posture gone rigid as he tried to blink away the shock of Hecate's words. Danny Porter, _here_? But how had he found them? Danny had made as much as a guess to the general location of the house that night Logan had let Violet call home, but how had he figured out the exact location? How had he gotten past the wards on the house for Gods' sake? He was _human_ after all, repelled by the magic without invitation.

"As I said, nymphs have more sway upon the bonds I have placed than I realized," Hecate answered then, confusing Logan as he had not asked any of his questions aloud. The woman looked undeterred by his sudden surprise, continuing on to explain. "Albany has brought young Danny, you see. They mentioned something of hearing of the Land of the Sleeping Giant, and thanks to the technology of today, it was not hard to find our location. There are only so many houses in the park, after all."

"It isn't a trick?" Logan asked, the edge of panic still nipping at his nerves.

Hecate laughed at him, wounding his pride if only slightly. "No, my Lord. I assure you they are no one but the real Daniel Porter and Albany Smith. You may go see for yourself, if you wish. Wyatt should be home any minute, and Thaddeus and Chad for that matter. I shall fill them in while you talk with Violet and her family."

_But _we're_ her family,_ something inside of Logan wanted to argue then. And the truth of the statement baffled him more than the present situation. This entire time he'd been so focused on what Violet meant to him, and yet he'd overlooked the simplest of details. He loved her, that much was true, but it was the kind of love that filled all the parts of him he'd never admitted to needing. His entire life, he'd been alone. He had his siblings, sure, the others in his house too, but it hadn't ever felt completely like a family to him. There had always been something missing, and now he knew it had been Violet.

Before her, he'd had a sort of loneliness deep inside of him he'd refused to recognize, burying it beneath work and pride. But now that he had finally let her in, stopped lying to himself about how much he truly loved this girl, he realized he didn't feel lonely anymore. She filled in the splintered cracks without him even realizing it, a disease of the heart, body and mind he never wanted a cure for.

She was his family– she always had been.

"But she has a family of her own, Logan," Hecate reminded him with a cruel smirk, making him grit his teeth and drop his eyes to the floor. Not only did he really not appreciate the woman intruding upon his thoughts, but he also didn't like the fact he knew she was right. Violet had had a family before him, and he'd stolen her away from it. But now the truth was here clawing at his ribs– he couldn't pretend that this world he'd made for Violet had been something she'd wanted. "Go; talk with her before it is too late," Hecate said, waving a hand with a flitter of smoke.

Logan didn't have the breath to ask what she meant by that.

Instead he let his legs carry him numbly into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to find Violet sitting at the table facing him, her eyes alight like he had not seen them in a long time. She had her head tipped back, laughing at something Danny had just said to her. (_Had she ever laughed for him like that?_) When her gaze finally landed on Logan though, it turned somber– of course it did. Both Danny and Albany noticed; they had their backs to him but now turned to see what Violet was staring at.

The expressions on their faces were matching ones of contempt and rage.

"_You_!" Danny shouted, jumping up from the kitchen chair he sat in and knocking it to the floor with angered flurry. "_You're_ the one who kidnapped my sister!"

"Danny–" Violet tried, but the younger boy was already marching up into Logan's face, prepared for a challenge despite the fact Logan was nearly half a foot taller than him.

"It's okay," Logan told Violet honestly, turning his gaze to Danny who was glaring violently up at him. Danny had every right to yell at him. Violet was his sister after all, and Logan had taken her away and made Danny believe she'd left him.

_Just another sin I'll have to atone for._

"Don't you try and tell her what's okay and what isn't, you psychotic prick!" Danny shouted, pointing a finger at Logan threateningly. "You don't have the right, asshole."

"Daniel Christopher Porter!" Violet warned then, her tone having gone sharp like that of a mother admonishing a child. "Watch your language!"

"Oh come on, Violet!" Albany said, still sitting at the table but posture gone rigid. Her eyes were slit and the red on her mouth looked vicious at the way she was frowning, promise of threat in her eyes. "I know you like the guy, but Stockholm's Syndrome isn't an excuse for the fact me and Danny have been put through _hell_ to find you!"

"I told you not to look," Violet argued. "It isn't safe for you guys here."

"And it's safe for _you_?" Danny asked, turning his back on Logan to address his sister more fully. "God, Vi, you said this guy's involved with the mob! That _Dad_ was involved with the mob?!"

"In respective aspects," Violet said, holding her brother's gaze. She'd gotten better and better at lying since coming to the house, something Logan thought he should probably feel bad about because of the corruption he'd taught her, yet he didn't. Lying was essential to surviving in their world, and if there was one thing Logan would make sure of it was that Violet would survive all of this, war or not. And that she was happy. _But she isn't happy here._ "Look, I don't understand how you got away from the house without anyone telling us– supposedly you're being watched over." She threw a questioning glance at Logan then, raising a brow expectantly.

"They are," he said, and at Danny and Albany's outraged looks quickly added, "for your own safety of course."

"Well we must have dodged them then, huh?" Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "Not very good body guard, huh?" Logan noticed the spark in him was like the one in Violet, only darker.

In fact, the longer Logan looked at Danny Porter, the more he felt a vague prickling at the edge of his senses, something he'd encountered before but only with other deities. But Hecate had assured he was human. Had some of Violet's divinity somehow rubbed off on her brother, and that was why the siblings were so attached, why Danny seemed so immune to the wards of the house? Was he another creature entirely such as Albany?

No, Logan couldn't feel the strange thrum from Wyatt that he felt from Albany, a shiny kind of flutter that all nymphs excluded.

Danny's draw was much darker, much older…

Squinting, Logan reached out a hand to touch Danny for proof. Just one brush of his fingers against Danny's skin was all he needed… "What the _fuck_?!" Danny asked, smacking Logan's hand away and shocking everyone in the room. "Get off of me, bro."

Well, apparently that wasn't going to happen, then.

"My apologies, I was merely trying to assure you that Violet has come to no harm while she was here," said Logan, false word said easily in hopes of placation.

"You don't have to _touch_ me to do that," Danny scowled, scooting away from Logan then to stand next to Violet's chair. "Honestly, Vi, why do you even like this guy? He's freaking weird."

"He's taken good care of me, Danny," Violet said then, her voice level as she looked at Logan with something close to a smile. It made his heart thrum in his chest– maybe, just maybe she felt for him what he felt for her. He'd taken even a fraction of her affections over none. "He's taken care of you, too. You couldn't honestly think I could afford to put money in the account every month, or that I could keep you out of a group home until Aunt Karen showed up. Logan and everyone else here did that. And Logan's personally made sure you're looked after, though apparently he might have to switch the guards out…"

Logan grimaced at the reminder, wondering how two of his most loyal employees had let Albany and Danny slip away so easily unnoticed. Centaurian guards were supposed to be some of the best protectors known; they _always_ did their job. Logan would need to talk to them later and find out what had happened, just to make sure Violet's family was better taken care of.

_Family._

The word still made his hands clench at the thought of it.

"That doesn't matter anymore," Danny said then, shook his head. "Vi, you _have_ to come home! I know it might be dangerous, but Aunt Karen's gone nuts. I told her she couldn't, but she put mom in a psych ward!"

"She _what_?" Violet nearly shouted. It was then she stood from the table, eyes wild and limbs beginning to shake. "_Why_?"

"Mom had one of her…_episodes_," Danny said hesitantly, glancing at Logan with caution.

"It's okay, Danny," Violet sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. It was obvious she was upset by the news about her mother, and that she somehow felt responsible. Logan wanted more than anything to comfort her, hold her close and tell her things would be alright. But he had a hunch if he even _tried_ to touch her that Danny would be going for his jugular or Albany would sink her nails suited better to be called claws into his flesh. Or, worst of all, Violet would reject him. "Just tell me what happened. You can trust Logan."

Danny scoffed. "Hardly."

"She started screaming about winter being bad news or something and threw a glass plate at Karen's head," Albany said then, earning a scowl from Danny that she ignored with a roll of her eyes. "That was just the tip of the ice-berg though. The next day she was raving about winter again and tried to, well, jump out of the window." Violet's eyes widened in horror. "Karen didn't know what to do, Vi. Your mom was a danger to others and herself, so she called emergency services and checked her into McLean. Both Danny and I were at school, and by the time we got home it was too late. I'm sorry."

Violet shook her head, pressed a hand to her mouth and sat back down into her chair, trembling. Logan knew she was on the verge of crying, but she wasn't letting herself. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess," she sighed, staring down at the floor dejectedly.

"But Violet, that means I don't have a legal guardian anymore," Danny said then, adding heat to the injury. "Aunt Karen is going to petition the court for custody and she's gonna make me move back to Pennsylvania with her!"

There was a pregnant pause in the room before Violet said, "She _can't_," breath coming in a wild gasp. "She wouldn't!"

"She _would_," Danny said, taking hold of his sister's hand and squeezing it in desperation. "She thinks you aren't coming back. We told her you were staying with a friend after you called, but she didn't believe us that you'd be back in December, like _he–_" Danny tossed his head towards Logan accusingly– "said. She's gonna move me over winter break and make me go to boarding school in Ohio!"

"_No_." Violet said, the sorrow in her suddenly replaced by a very noticeable anger. "I won't let that happen. That's not going to happen."

"Then come home!" Danny said, his eyes swelling with tears. "Please, Violet. I miss you so much."

"So do I," Albany said, glancing once at Logan and then back to her friend. He caught the plea in her eyes at the gesture. "I thought at first when you were gone that that letter was real– it was _just_ like your handwriting. But then, like we said earlier, Danny and I found your necklace and we came out here and saw _that guy_ and we started looking around and I mean, I still wasn't super convinced because it was just so believable you'd run under all the pressure, but when you called and dodged the question about being out here and… We would have come sooner if it weren't for all of the drama with your mom and Karen. She won't let Danny and I hang out much since I'm so gun-ho about not letting her get custody. It's a miracle the high school let me pull him out early this afternoon. Lucky Principal Bloom always did like me…"

"She liked your uncle," Violet said almost mindlessly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she calls to ask for a date with him now that you owe her one."

"Probably," Albany said, then cast a glance over to Logan again with scrutinizing eyes. She seemed to know something was off about him, the way she knew something was off about herself and Violet and Danny, too. Logan raised an eyebrow in challenge of Albany identifying the source, saving them all from the lie Violet had concocted about her reasons for being here. But Albany simply shook her head, gave Logan a grudging look of imploration. "I know you said she's important, and we're in danger, but if you're worried about Danny's safety now, what about when he gets shipped off to boarding school? How are you going to keep an eye on him there?"

"It would be relatively easy," Logan said with a shrug. And yet he was feeling suddenly numb because he knew he couldn't let any of that happen. He'd already caused the Porter family harm enough. He'd taken Violet and left her little brother alone, only to have their mother taken away from him too. Yes, the woman was mentally unstable and could not take care of Danny, but without her there as excuse there was nothing stopping the courts from taking Danny out of Violet's care. It was better he'd be placed with his aunt instead of in the foster system, but Logan knew how much it would hurt Violet to lose her brother in such a way that she could stop if she went home.

Violet had been taking care of Danny and their mother since she was a teenager– if she could prove financial stability and a nurturing environment for Danny in court, custody would more than likely be allotted to her considering she was his closest of kin. If she went home now and worked things out with her aunt, she could keep Danny home and provide for him, and could even sign her mother out of the hospital if she wished.

"You can't keep her here," Albany said, voice dropped to a whisper. Violet and Danny weren't paying any attention to their exchange now, talking quietly amongst themselves with a sudden desperation to hold onto each other in any way they could. Two siblings that had lost everything– and Logan was trying to take from them even more for his own selfish wants. "Danny needs his sister, and Violet needs her brother, too."

Logan could hear the truth in Albany's statement; see the mounting pain in Violet's eyes as the thought of losing her brother began to sink into her more and more. Logan had hurt her so many times, and by keeping her here now, with such an escalating disaster, it would just be adding to the list. If he sent her home, she could keep Danny with her, she could be happy.

She wouldn't be as safe at her own home, but Logan knew he could still keep watch of her, more so than he'd led her to believe. Though her presence made him feel stronger, made him feel more _alive_, that didn't mean he couldn't simply ask to meet her at crucial times. The rest of the Gods knew about her now, even Selene and Helios and probably the lot they were working with. Hiding Violet away was not going to stop them from finding her. In fact, maybe if she was a part of the real world, part of the mortals, it would make them more apt to leave her alone.

"You can go home." The words left his lips before he could think them through any further. He knew if he kept contemplating of all of the negatives of the decision, he'd talk himself out of it. _If you love something, you have to let it go._ He'd known this was coming all along– it had only been a matter of time before she had to leave him. So he said '_You can go home._' and he meant it.

The room stopped in any movement then, Danny and Albany's eyes sharp on him. But Violet's, hers were shocked. "I can?" she asked.

"Yes," Logan said, chest swelling with something akin to ache when he said, "It's not like I need you here that much anyways. We can keep in contact and meet when we have to." It was a lie, and he hoped she knew it. Of course he needed her here– she was everything to him.

"You don't need me here?" she asked, and he nearly drowned in his guilt at her little jolt of surprise.

"No," Logan said, watching the emotions play on her face. There were hundreds, before she settled on an almost reserved composure. She'd never wanted to come here in the first place, and yet he'd kept her so long. A caged bird he begged to sing, but she wouldn't until she was free. "Now that you've met the others, my reasons for keeping you here are no longer valid. As I told you a while ago, I will keep you safe, Violet. And your family too. I lied to you in the beginning, and have realized the error of my ways in that. I need not keep you here for selfish reasons any longer."

For a moment Violet said nothing, and then she nodded, bit her lip, sighed, grim smile touching at her lips. "Okay," she said, and wouldn't meet his eye. "Okay."

* * *

Violet had her stuff packed in no time. She left all of the things she'd been given during her time at the house where they were supposed to be in her room. All she allowed herself to take was the necklace Evangeline had given her, and only because it was a birthday present with special use.

She should be more excited than this, she couldn't help but think as she shoved her old stuffed rabbit into the backpack Thaddeus had given her on her fourth day here, the one he'd taken from her home. She was going home with Danny and Albany, and she was going to make sure her brother stayed in her care and in the home they'd grown up in. She would sign her mother out of the hospital and give her the attention she needed like Aunt Karen hadn't been able to. She'd get back the life she'd been craving since the moment she'd woken up in this house, kicking and screaming.

So why, then, was she so sad?

_Because I want to stay,_ a little voice in her head whispered. _I'm leaving everyone and everything I know now if I go._ She wouldn't see Wyatt or Chad or Myrtle or Thaddeus or Evangeline every day now. Or Logan. Only when it was necessary would she be in their company. This dream world she'd been living in here at the Fairgrave house was tumbling down, and she was headed back to the normal old life of Violet Porter, a girl Goddess no more.

It was only now that it was too late was she realizing how much she'd changed during her stay here, how much she'd come to know she wasn't meant for _normal_ things. How could she be, when she had the memories of a Goddess in the back of her head? How could she go home and pretend like everything was fine when there was a war older than time brewing on the horizon?

The idea of going back to college seemed like a joke now. What had she for mythology class when she had _lived_ those myths so long ago? Or for growing plants in a greenhouse under study when all she had to do was wish for a rosebush and it would sprout up through the ground on demand?

How could she act like everything was fine around Albany and Danyy without wanting to have a panic attack at the idea the other Gods would go after them, now that they would be so closely by her side again? At least in Logan's care, the others would come looking for her at the house, she figured. But now that she was going back home…

_He said he doesn't need you here,_ she reminded herself, Logan's words ringing in her skull and spreading an ache to her limbs. She'd thought he'd fight for her. Instead he was sending her home, after all the struggle and pain he'd put her through in telling her she'd had to stay.

Just like that, he was letting her go.

A part of her was mad at him for that. He'd made such a fuss that it was dire for her to stay at the house, that she couldn't be let out of his sights. And in that fuss's wake her entire life had been ruined. _Danny's_ entire life had been ruined. And now Logan was just going to let her leave, no ifs, ands or buts about it?

Where did he have the _right_?

Another part of her though was simply sad. Sad because she'd thought, for once, things were finally good between them. They'd been laughing so easily now, so carefree as they held each other and talked about stupid, ineffectual things that actually meant everything in the end. She'd thought, stupidly, that he might have loved her, that he'd at least wanted her enough to ask she stayed.

But no, he was sending her off with a little '_you can go home_' and an '_I don't need you here anymore_' and she was overly torn between hating him and being grateful he was giving her back the life he'd taken away. Even if it had been thrown through the shredder and down the drain in her absence.

Sighing, she zipped her bag shut and left the room, sun slanting through the windows to turn everyone a shade of mauve. Marea was on her heels as soon as she hit the hall. Violet had decided she was taking the dog– that was another present she wasn't willing to lose. In the last hour Marea had taken a keen liking to Danny anyways, so Violet figured that even though their house was much smaller than Logan's, the lack of space would be made up for with affection. Even Albany admitted to liking Marea, though she was more of a cat person.

The walk down the steps to the entry hall seemed to drag on forever. The smell of the house was clouding her sense, the old wood and lacquer, a scent she would never forget.

At the bottom landing, she found everyone in huddles talking quietly amongst themselves. Danny was cowering behind Albany by now who was glaring steadfastly at Thaddeus. The latter was talking to Chad, shifting uncomfortably under the redhead's scrutiny. Myrtle hadn't come down to say goodbye, and Evangeline was trying to comfort a morose looking Wyatt, who'd arrived home just in time to hear the news Violet was leaving immediately.

Logan was standing by himself at the edge of the stairs' railing, staring off blankly until Violet cleared her throat. Everyone's gazes snapped to her then, different plays of emotion. She shuffled, hoisted her bag up farther on her shoulder.

"I'm ready," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good," Albany said after a moment, distilling the sudden and prickling silence in the room. "If we leave now, we can make it back before dark."

"Okay," Violet said, sadness digging deeper into her chest. She'd have to say her goodbyes now. She hated goodbyes. "Let's go, then."

"But you'll be back soon, right?" Wyatt asked as Violet began to walk to the front door, simply wanting to avoid this situation together. The boy's dark eyes were red-rimmed and his voice had cracked on the last word. Violet realized he was crying, and it broke her heart all over again just as Logan's earlier words had.

For his part, Danny looked like he was sizing Wyatt up as some kind of competition when he said, "What's it to you?"

"She's my friend," Wyatt said, no animosity in his tone, just sadness. "Maybe she came here on bad terms, but it didn't stay like that."

Danny snorted, shook his head. "You people _kidnapped_ her and suddenly you're acting like she's part of your crazy family or something."

"She _is_," Wyatt insisted, hands clenching into fists.

"No, she's not."

Violet felt everything inside of her stop then, beating back to life with a numb sort of pain that felt like shards of ice in her skin. (_Oh how Persephone had hated winter._) She looked at Logan with a mix of both shock and grief, the sudden threat of tears in her eyes. Of all of the things he had said, this was by far the worst. It was one thing to change his mind so suddenly after all these game he'd played with her and send her merrily on her way, another to say he didn't need her here anymore. But to say she wasn't his family, after _everything_ they'd been through and how much the people here had come to mean to her, how much _he_ had come to mean to her–

"What do you mean she's not?" Wyatt was asking, angry now. "Of course she is!"

"No," Logan said, and he met Violet's gaze then, completely at ease and unaffected. "She has a family, and we're not it."

Her mouth opened, closed. She looked away so quickly it made her neck hurt, her shoulders shake. The room was once again silent, before Logan pushed away from the bannister and sighed, giving everyone a tired glance. "I'll call you if anything new comes up, Violet. Evangeline will give you the house number in case you have any questions, as well as mine and Thaddeus' cell numbers. Don't hesitate to call."

And just like that, he brushed past her up the steps and left, cool, calm and collected.

She felt like she had been slapped, barely registering the sudden warmth of Evangeline's arms around her. "He doesn't mean it, little one," she tried to say, but the words didn't take.

"You're still my family," Wyatt mumbled when it was his turn to say goodbye to her, and that impossibly made everything worse. "I'm gonna miss having you around all the time, Vi." He slipped her his own cell phone number to be put away with the ones Evangeline had given her, told her to text him as much as possible.

Chad and Thaddeus said their farewells next, the latter pulling her into a tight hug that made all the air leave her lungs. When he set her on her feet, he told her to call him if she had _any_ troubles. He wouldn't hesitate to kick someone's ass, immortal or not, if they fucked with her. Chad chimed in he'd help, smiling at her sadly like he'd never see her again.

And then there was no one left to say goodbye to. Violet tried not to cry as she joined Danny on the entry stairs with Marea at her side, only now noticing Albany was no longer in the room with them. Before she could ask where the girl had gone though, Danny was giving her this look like she'd grown and second head and Violet's words changed to, "What?"

"How can you be so friendly with that guy," Danny hissed, giving Thaddeus a consciously terrified glance. "He's like a damned Bond villain."

If she hadn't felt so achingly numb, Violet probably would have laughed at the comparison. "He's not too bad," she said instead.

It was then Albany joined them once again, brushed off Violet's questions of where she'd been with a quick excuses of, "Had to piss," and ushered them out the front door, towards her uncle's old pick-up.

Violet stopped two steps off the front porch though, taking one last glance back at the place that been her house the past three months. The place where she'd gone in a girl not knowing her place in the world, and come out the reincarnation of a Goddess with a broken heart.

Marea whined at her side then, urging her away as they got into the pick-up with Albany and Danny who were smiling at her like it was the Fourth of July. If anything, that made her want to cry more, Marea curled in her lap as the only evidence Violet had ever been gone from her old life at all.

She didn't look back as they drove away, the gates sealing shut with a groan behind them.

* * *

Logan found himself in his office after he'd had his goodbyes– or lack thereof– to Violet, glass of whichever alcohol he'd grabbed first in hand.

He'd said she wasn't his family.

He'd _lied_.

The only thing he could do to wipe her broken expression out of his mind was to drink. And it was on his second glass that the nymph walked into his room, insult to injury, uncertain in her heels with a soft expression on her face. He was about to tell her to get out so he could wallow alone, that Violet was probably waiting for her so she could leave like he knew she'd wanted to do since he'd first brought her here. But Albany was the first to speak and kill the words in his throat better than the whiskey could.

"I know you're not really what Violet claims you to be," she said, tucking a stray strand of curly red hair behind her ear, a gesture reminiscent of Violet that made Logan drain his glass even faster and go for another.

"Here's to you not being stupid," Logan mumbled, pressing the glass to the side of his face and sighing. "It's complicated."

Albany nodded, staring at him with half suspicion and half gratitude. That last part confused him, but he said nothing about it. "I won't ask questions about anything, but I know there's more to all of this than just bad blood with her dad. He didn't get involved in bad things… Just assure me Violet isn't going to get hurt in all of this, and I can forgive you for getting her involved."

"I'd give my life to protect her," Logan said, and he meant it.

"I believe you," Albany said. "But I don't believe what you said down there, about her not being your family. I know you were lying. And I also know that you have to love her a lot, to be letting her go like this."

Logan said nothing then. What could he say, after all? What Albany had just spoken was the truth. Truth he wagered was going to kill him sooner rather than later, but truth nonetheless. Finally he just decided that grunting at the girl was good enough, tipped back his glass and drained it before filling it again, becoming agitated the alcohol wasn't going to his head quick enough.

"She loves you too, y'know," Albany said, making him pause in harsh movements. He did not look up at the girl, couldn't because of how much his heart ached in knowing the words weren't true. "She doesn't know it yet, but I've never seen her look at someone like that. I don't think you screwed things up down there, either. I think you can fix them, if you try."

Again, Logan said nothing.

There was a pregnant pause between them as he drained his forth glass before saying, "You'd better get back down there before she notices you're gone."

Albany glanced towards the hall, gave him a sad smile before she left. "Thank you, Logan," she said. "Remember, you didn't screw it up down there."

And it was only when she was gone that he let himself laugh miserably, words filling the empty space as he said, "No. I screwed it up at the start."


	43. The Run-in

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. I just wanted to give a heads up that there is (at least what I'm planning) only going to be about six chapters left to this story. God I can't believe it's almost finished… And I know what you're probably thinking– but how in the ever loving hell can I resolve all the plot-loops in that short of time? That, my dear friends, is what sequels are for ;)

* * *

The days moved slowly for Violet after she'd left the Fairgrave house.

And it wasn't long before days soon turned to weeks, casting shadows over thoughts and erasing all the bittersweet memories she had of her time in that dream-like place. She was letting herself forget on purpose– it was so much better that way.

Logan still called, of course. He let her know if anything new had happened with the others, and so far it had been nothing monumental. Two new Gods discovered, but no update on the Titans or those who wished to release them. She'd never dreaded the first snow more in her life; didn't trust the cold that bit at her skin the moment she left the house for work.

Coming home had been less hectic than she'd thought it would be. A three hour long talk and promise to include her more in the family's affairs, and Aunt Karen had called off the idea of trying to obtain custody of Danny. Instead she'd helped Violet with the legal papers, the petition to court about becoming Danny's new legal guardian. "I'm just not cut out for kids," Karen had said as Violet filled out the papers, biting at the corners of chapped lips. "Sending him to boarding school was the only way I knew he'd give him what he needed, with you gone and all…"

Violet had not the nerve to say what Danny _needed_ was love, not being shipped off somewhere for a 'good education'. Karen had already been more than generous in letting Violet keep custody of Danny after having pulled what Karen liked to call, an '_irresponsible stunt_'. The woman had bought the tale of Violet running off for a little time on her own pretty easily, though the first time Logan had called the house, Karen had been more than suspicious that Violet had eloped or something– the woman's original theory as to why Violet had left so suddenly.

It was easy enough to let Aunt Karen think what she wanted. After Violet had been home for a week, the woman had made excuse for need to get back home to her work and her cats. She'd left Violet with instruction to call her with news about how the custody battle was going, and that was it. Violet and Danny had waved her away a little too joyously, dissolving inside the house to figure out their plans about what to do with their mother, since she was still locked away in the hospital.

Albany had been there now that Karen could no longer chase her off the property, eating all the ice-cream from the freezer when she piped up, "I hate to say it, but I think maybe you should keep her put away until after child services does a check on the house to make sure it's a good environment for Danny to stay in. I mean, you don't really want her trying to jump out the window or throwing a plate at the social worker while they're here, do you? I don't think they'd deem the environment too safe for a kid if your mom was doing shit like that."

It had seemed a bit wrong somehow, but Violet had had to agree with Albany's reasoning. Still, she felt an innate guilt at keeping her mother locked away as the days wore on. Violet knew what it was like to be a captive, how much you wanted to escape from your prison cell… And yet she couldn't bring herself to risk losing Danny, not now when she'd just gotten him back.

September bled into October. Wyatt skipped school on the second Tuesday of the month to take Violet out for lunch, because she had the day off from the secretary job she'd managed to snag in Albany's Uncle's mechanics shop. Wyatt asked where they should go and just to torture herself, Violet said the café she and Logan had had their technical first date at (not that she mentioned that last bit to Wyatt, of course).

"So how's school?" Violet asked once they'd settled in, taking a sip of the pomegranate juice she'd ordered in masochistic nostalgia.

Wyatt shrugged. "I think I'm gonna fail my calc. class."

"Wyatt," Violet admonished, the way she did with Danny whenever he tried to forgo his homework in lieu of video games.

Wyatt's expression turned glum as he falsely smoothed his hair back, making the gel in it shine even more under the afternoon glow of the sun. "It's just…you're not there to help like you said you'd be, Vi. The house sucks without you."

Violet hadn't been expecting that kind of answer out of him; she glanced away in sudden embarrassment and grief. "You all made it just fine before I ever got there," she finally said, not being able to keep a tone of resentment out of her voice. She didn't understand why she was so suddenly agitated with the situation. She wasn't their family, after all. Logan had made sure to let her know that.

"But you _changed_ everything, Violet. Even Uncle L. is a wreck; he can barely get shit done without–"

She cut Wyatt off with an icy look then, her shoulders going straight. "I'm sure Logan's just _fine_ without me." In all of the times he'd called her, it had been nothing but business. Simple and to the point, no apologies, not even small talk. She was torn between crying or breaking something every time he ended the call.

Wyatt seemed to take her sudden anger at its point, not indulging further upon the subject of Violet's absence at the Fairgrave house. Instead he told her more about school, about how he was going to take Christa to homecoming the next weekend. "It isn't a date," he swore up and down, giving Violet a sort of hopeful look that she would realize he was still 'single' and take advantage of it.

She didn't.

After they were finished, Violet insisted on paying for lunch. "Come on, Vi, you don't gotta do that," Wyatt kept saying over and over.

"Nonsense." She waved him off. "You guys paid for me more than enough when I was at the house. I owe you one."

He let her, but with a frown and a promise he'd pay for them to go see a movie sometime. She suggested they go to the theater now, see the latest action film playing there. Wyatt grimaced, shook his head with a sulking pout. Said he had to get back to dumb old Hamden if he had any hopes of convincing Evangeline he hadn't actually skipped school and was getting home from the torture of public education at the same time he did every other day. Everyone was still worried about him getting expelled again and did everything they could to make sure it didn't happen.

Violet hugged the boy long and hard after he'd dropped her off at her house, sad to let go, and Wyatt embraced her just as desperately because he felt the same. It was weird being without each other after over three straight months of companionship.

"Don't be such a stranger," he said as she climbed out of the passenger's side. "You're still my friend, Vi. Just because we don't live together anymore doesn't mean we can't hang out."

She nodded then, showed him off with a small, "You keep out of trouble, okay?" and a wave before heading to her front door. Down the street she could see Aster, head held high and on alert as she twisted the keys in the deadlock. Logan had, apparently, sent over new guards as he'd said he would. This time they had introduced themselves to Violet, calling her 'my Lady' and 'your Highness' and all of the other clichés that came with being a Goddess reincarnate. She'd asked, with an embarrassed smile, what species they were, curious despite herself.

Aster had answered the question with a laugh, giving her a large grin that quite reminded her of Thaddeus which made her like the guard immediately. "We are centaurs, my Lady," he'd said, flicking long strands of hair over broad shoulders.

"But you've got…" Violet had trailed off, blush rising to her cheeks at the words that had almost slipped from her mouth.

"_Human legs_?" had asked Aster's counterpart, Tobias. He was even taller than Aster, with shining skin and fathomless eyes that frightened her, but not in a bad way.

"Yes," Violet had said, the flush creeping farther over her flesh.

"It is magic, my Lady," Aster had chuckled, holding out his wrist to show a golden band around it that had a not-so-subtle glow only her and other immortals' eyes could see. "While the Gods have slept, we earth-bound creatures have learned some new tricks."

Violet grinned and shook her head at the rest of the memory, the guards having had come inside for tea and dwarfing her living room with their long limbs and bulking stature. When Danny had come home from school he'd nearly had a heart attack, only calming down when Violet had assured him that Aster and Tobias meant no harm and only good.

With a sigh, she closed the front door behind her and greeted Marea who was lying lazily on the couch, Galanthias curled up against the dog's stomach. Both animals had become quite the acquaintances since being introduced. At first Marea had sniffed and barked at the cat because she didn't understand what it was, only having had the chance to meet a cat once, and it had been a reanimated corpse of one at that. Galanthias had hissed and hid under Violet's bed for three days, before tenderly coming out to eat and Marea had somehow been okay with her by then, used to the cat's scent. They'd been an oddly inseparable pair ever since. Except when Marea tried to eat Galanthias' cat food– then the feline peed on Marea's favorite pillow in the living room.

Violet had had to replace it three times because of such catastrophes.

Hanging her coat up on the door and checking the time to make sure Danny wouldn't be home soon, Violet headed upstairs to shower and, wanting to wash the lingering feel of Wyatt's words about Logan off her skin. She couldn't think of the man without her heart hurting or her lunch wanting to come back up, and she was so tired of the broken ache he'd left in his place that she found it best to act as if Logan hadn't existed.

She supposed that was why, two weeks later on Halloween day, when she ran into Michael Haleson, she accepted his offer to go out to dinner.

It was a coincidence to top any, and if Violet hadn't been so tired from work and court filing for Danny's custody hearing, she probably would've been in the right mind to question their chanced running into each other a bit more. As it stood, she thought she was going to collapse from exhaustion, and so when she went into the small gas station near the bus stop on her way home to pick up coffee so she'd be alert enough to pass out candy to the eager trick-or-treaters that came to the door later, and Michael was just standing there a breath away at the magazine rack reading an old copy of Time, she hardly recognized him, let alone questioned why they'd happened to meet again when the odds were one in a million with all the other people that lived in Boston.

She was so busy tapping at the coffee machine to get the last drops in her cup that she didn't see Michael notice her, blinked when he said her name in a familiar yet foreign voice. Slowly, she turned to face him. "Do I know you?" she asked, head straining to put a name to his face.

"It's Michael, Michael Haleson," he said with a dark grin. "From the dance in Chicago, for John Storms' business."

Her eyes lit up in recognition then, knees buckling as she fought to stay upright in her flats. "Oh, yes, I remember. Hello." _How could she have forgotten this man?_ she wondered tiredly. He'd been so sweet when they'd danced at that gala, this alluring pull of him seeping into her senses. Not to mention the fact he'd been the jealousy inducing catalyst for her and Logan's intimacy later that night… _No. _She wouldn't think about that, not now. "How are you, Michael?"

"I'm good," he said, tilting his head and studying her. "You look different from when I last saw you… Older, somehow."

She shrugged, hiding her face behind loose curls as she glanced to the floor. She'd continued eating since she'd left the Fairgrave house, filling out hidden curves and giving a certain round edge to her face that somehow made her look older, more defined. Not to mention the sadness she'd been feeling lately. That kind of bitter numbness had a way of aging you a thousand years just in one night, hollowing you out and filling you up again with a longing you couldn't put a name to even if you tried. It had only been a month and half since she'd come home, but for Violet, it felt an eternity.

_Is this how Persephone felt when she was waiting out the spring to see her husband again?_

"Hey, listen," Michael said then, suddenly bashful as he leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. "I was just gonna go grab a bite to eat– you wanna join me?"

The offer left her a bit confounded– was he asking her on a _date_?– but then the more she thought about it, the more tempting it was. Well why shouldn't she go out to dinner with Michael anyways? Danny was off with his friends at a Halloween party some girl at his school had thrown, which meant Violet would be left to herself all night watching old scary movies on cable and eating whatever candy she didn't hand out to the trick-or-treaters.

Besides, she hadn't gone out once since getting home, except for lunch with Wyatt the other week. Albany had suggested numerous a time that Violet go to parties or clubs or one dates with her– even tonight she'd suggested Violet drop by Club Olympus for the Halloween bash it held– but Violet had declined every time. Going out with Albany meant meeting romantic interests, and Violet felt heart-sick at the idea of having any kind of interaction of that sort with anyone but Logan. No matter how much Albany insisted that meeting someone new was exactly what Violet needed to get over her captor-practically-turned-lover, Violet just couldn't bring herself to.

And in effect, she was lonely. She was lonely and she was overworked and over stressed and tired of longing for a man that so obviously didn't love her as much as she'd thought he had. Because even if he'd sent her back home to help her, he didn't have to avoid her like this. He didn't have to say she wasn't his family– that had cut right to through the skin, down to the bone. And he'd known it would, but he'd said it anyways. And that was probably what hurt the most.

She _needed_ to get past him.

So in taking Albany's advice, Violet found herself saying, "Sure, why not?" to Michael's offer.

Michael grinned, a secret shine to his golden eyes as he offered her an arm and ushered her away, her coffee left forgotten and cold on the gas station counter.

* * *

The place they went to for dinner wasn't anything too fancy, something Violet was immensely thankful for. Her day dress and flats blended in well with the environment, a normal restaurant with happy couples enjoying the Halloween evening before heading back to work tomorrow.

The hostess gave them a table in the back with a large window viewing over the park across the street. The last of the youngest trick-or-treaters ran about the trees and paths in their costumes as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Violet smiled at them, playing with the tablecloth absently. She liked children for the fact of their innocence, their creativity. The world hadn't corrupted them yet– they were ethereal and every parent feared the day that life spoiled their fragile and fantastical realities.

"So when did you get back to Boston?" Michael asked then, making Violet's eyes snap up to meet his. They looked harder than she remembered– more haunted.

"About a month and half ago," Violet shrugged, thanked the waiter– whom she felt bad for considering the hideous monster face-paint he'd been subjected to wear for the holiday– when he brought out their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. After their selections were made and the waiter had left for the kitchen to place them, Violet turned back to Michael and asked, "When did you get back in?"

"Last week," Michael said, sipping at his beer, mouth wrapping around the lip of the bottle in a practiced sort of lilt. "I was in for about five days a month ago, but got shipped out on a business demand."

"I take it John has you all over the place, then?" Violet asked, trying not to let show the effect John's name had on her. She still feared the man– still thought him vile and manipulative and, well, _icky_. It made her cringe every time she said his name aloud.

Michael smirked, gave her a teasing wave of his hand. "Sort of."

"So where do you live?" Violet asked after a moment of silence, pulling out all idle points of conversation she could. She hadn't been social in the small-talk kind of way with a stranger in a long time. At the Fairgrave house it was all get-up-and-go talking, no secrets or small introductions. Kidnapping and war talk didn't have time for that. And even now that she was home, she didn't talk much to anyone besides Danny and Albany, but mainly it was about their schooling, or Albany's new beau, or the new books Violet was reading just to draw attention away from all the more personal problems she was experiencing.

"I live in a brownstone over east," Michael said, staring at the rivulets of water running down Violet's glass instead of meeting her gaze. "You should come over sometime, if you want. We could watch a movie or something."

Violet blushed at his offer; the way he said it was so intimate, and she hadn't felt the familiar coil of anticipatory nerves in her belly since her last day with Logan when he'd kissed her before he'd left for work and Albany and Danny had come and everything had changed. She found she still liked the feeling, the flutter in her lungs. And yet it was bittersweet– Michael was nice and seemed level and was decently attractive, but Violet knew he wasn't the man she really wanted.

_You're not _his_ family though, remember?_

With a stubborn mind, she willed the thoughts of Logan away and grinned at Michael shyly, trying her hardest when she said, "I'd like that, actually."

"Me too," he said, reaching across the table towards where her hand sat, trying to link his fingers with her own in a suggestive manner.

Violet felt a sudden onset of panic in her chest at the gesture– she'd forgotten how frightening a stranger's touch was to her. Luckily it was in that moment their waiter came back with their orders. Violet took her hand away from Michael's so the plates could be set on the table, not meeting his golden eyes in embarrassment and nerve.

The familiar smell of the food hit her the moment the waiter left. She'd ordered Moussaka, a Greek dish Evangeline had made for her often during her stay at the Fairgrave house. It never failed to make her mouth water at just the scent, and without hesitance she took a large bite from it, trying to hold in a content sigh. The only food better than this was desert for her, but only because she had a particularly large sweet tooth. Logan had always been obtusely thoughtful towards her about that, kept a jar of random mini Hershey's products in his office for her to munch on when she'd spent her afternoons with him.

Violet shook her head, made herself focus on the present.

Michael was eating some kind of pasta that looked like spaghetti, but with a lot more meat in the sauce than usual. Violet flushed when she noticed him staring at her as she shoveled in another bite of her food, quickly swallowing and taking a drink from her water before putting her fork down. She'd gotten so used to eating in front of others at the Fairgrave house she'd almost forgotten how embarrassed she'd once been to eat with anyone looking at her.

"So where do you work, Violet?" Michael asked, sensing her discomfort and trying to start conversation up again to distract her. She silently thanked him for that.

"I'm a secretary for a mechanic's shop right now," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a glamorous life."

Michael laughed at her small attempt of joke, putting Violet even more at ease. "Indeed it is. But don't you get out much? I mean, you're still young and have all the time in the world to work later in life. You should be living it up right now."

"I have a brother to take care of," she admitted then, seeing it best to put the subject out there right away. "I'm basically his mom, so now fun-time for me. All business."

Michael's expression turned more serious then, lips pursing as he stared at her with an emotion she couldn't recognize. "What about that…_guy_– the one that got all pissy at the gala because me and you were dancing? Aren't you with him? Doesn't he take you out a lot?"  
Violet drew in a deep breath before she said, "Not anymore," with a sad smile. "We ended it before I came back here to Boston."

"But you were _with_ him before that, then."

"I guess," Violet said, ringing her fingers together nervously. "Could we uh, not talk about him though? It isn't my favorite subject."

Michael stared at her with intense concentration a moment longer before nodding, taking a sip of his beer and leaning back in his seat. "That's fair," he said, sigh hanging off the end of his lips. "I've had some disastrous relationships myself, so I get it."

"Thanks," Violet said, stabbing her fork at her half-eaten food. She was ready to be done with it, not bring Logan up again as long as she could help it. If he wanted to treat her like their relationship was nothing but one of business, she could do the same. He'd once called her petty after all– she could live up to the reputation. But then she couldn't help the few words that slipped out, the ones that had been grating on her mind ever since Logan had told her to go home like some kind of stray dog he was done taking care of. "He just didn't love me as much as I thought he did, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Violet," Michael said then, and he really seemed to mean it as he reached out to hold her hand once more. This time, she didn't pull away. He was warm and vaguely familiar, the kind of hands she remembered her father having– the kind a man got in war. "A girl like you, you don't deserve that kind of thing. If I was your guy, I'd love you the way you should be loved."

"And how's that?" Violet asked softly, curiosity getting the better of her tongue.

She was Alice falling down the rabbit hole for a clever trick and play of light.

Michael smirked, twinkle in his golden eyes once again when he said, "Like a Goddess, of course."

* * *

She didn't understand the full innuendo behind his words then, just found them an awfully ironic analogy. It was only later, her hands tied to a chair in a vacant room and her heart racing for the safety of the ones she loved, that Violet realized the true meaning behind Michael's words, the warning there.

_Stupid,_ she told herself. _Stupid, stupid girl._

Because how had she not noticed the snow beginning to fall just outside the window then, when he'd looked at her like a new spring day ready for battle and made her insides flutter with a _pull_ she should've known right off the bat wasn't right? How had she not noticed, past his warm and charming exterior, that Michael was a God too?

And one that wanted spilt blood at that.


	44. The God of War

Violet didn't really get why she was inviting Michael inside.

She figured it was because she'd had fun on the date– he'd been sweet and funny and charming and she really didn't want to spend the rest of the night alone considering Danny would be staying at one of his friends' houses after the party. She didn't care if she had work in the morning; that was tomorrow and this was tonight and right now Michael was dropping her off at her door and she was inviting him inside for a drink despite what her better instincts told her.

For his part, Michael seemed like he'd known the offer was coming. "I'd love to," he said, waiting patiently as Violet fidgeted with her keys to get the front door unlocked.

Down the street she could see Aster at the curb, smoking a cigarette and eyeing Michael with a critical eye. Violet knew Tobias was settled somewhere else keeping watch, and so to ease both of the centaurs she gave a soft wave to Aster, a sign that everything was okay. Aster nodded back cordially, though his eyes kept linger on Michael, posture stiff and on offense.

"You know him?" Michael asked, observing Aster back just as critically.

"He's my neighbor," Violet lied with ease. "His wife doesn't let him smoke in the house so he has to come outside for it."

Michael looked as if he bought her excuse, following her into the house with a hand on the small of her back. She felt warm at the touch, out of place almost. And as soon as the front door was shut behind them, an eruption of chaos broke loose. Marea jumped up from where she'd been laying on the house, barking. Galanthias began hissing endlessly, raising her haunches in Michael's direction.

"Marea, no!" Violet said with alarm, grabbing the dog by the collar as she lunged at Michael with teeth bared. "He's a friend, Marea. Stop it!"

"It's okay," Michael said as he lingered in the entryway. "Animals have never liked me much…"

"Marea's just kind of protective," Violet grumbled, dragging the dog towards the kitchen. "I'll just be right back…"

It took some struggle, but she finally got Marea out the door and into the backyard. "Now what the heck was that for?" Violet asked the dog, standing on the back stoop with hands on her hips. Their backyard was typical of a city townhouse– barely any room and a rotting privacy fence around its borders. "He's fine, Marea." The dog gave a soft whine, pawing at Violet's foot imploringly. Sighing, Violet stooped down to Marea's level and scratched her behind the ears. "It's okay, girl. I promise I'll let you back in when you settle, alright?"

She left Marea outside with a soft kiss to the dog's snout, shutting the back door with a sigh. Marea started scratching at it, but Violet knew she couldn't give in for a bit until the dog calmed down. She'd been like this with Danny's friends when they'd came over during the second week Violet was home. The same with Albany's boyfriend who'd come for dinner one night so Albany could introduce him properly to Violet– he was an alright guy, but that hadn't stopped Marea from grumbling at him all evening. Not that Violet could blame the dog; the guy's jokes were pretty stupid.

Before going back into the living room she put her purse down on the kitchen counter and pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, filled them with the leftover wine Albany's beau had brought to the dinner party. It was a bit too sour for Violet's taste, but this was what people drank when having casual conversation, right? Oh _Gods_, she so didn't know how dating worked. With Logan there had never been dating involved with their relationship. There had been kidnapping and days spent together talking about nothing and everything, but never actual _dates_.

Violet just hoped she was doing this right as she grabbed the glasses and took a deep breath in order to face Michael again.

"Sorry about that," she said as she came back into the living room, found Michael sitting on the edge of the couch. Galanthias had disappeared, probably gone to hide under Violet's bed as she always did when new people came to the house. "Marea thinks she's a guard dog."

"She's good at her job, then," Michael chuckled, and Violet gave him a soft smile before setting the glasses on the coffee table and taking off her coat. She let the frock rest on the arm of the couch so she could sit next to Michael without dying of heatstroke.

Since fall had come with a definitive cold front this year, the heating in the house had been running full blast. Violet hadn't ever felt so cold in her life before, and she blamed the memories of Persephone for the sudden twist in body temperature. The Goddess had been practically allergic to frost considering she'd never had to endure it before, always spending her time in the damp yet reasonably warm Underworld when the world above was coated with a thick layer of snow.

"I hope this is okay," Violet said after a moment, nodding to the glasses on the table. "I'm still not much used to the fact I can buy alcohol legally, so we don't keep a lot around the house."

Michael grinned, taking the glass closest to him in a way that said he was fine with the choice. "I keep forgetting how young you are. You don't act as if you're twenty-one."

"Sometimes I feel like I still act like a child," Violet said, cheeks quick to heat at her own words. She hadn't meant to say that aloud.

With a small laugh, Michael reached out to touch her knee softly. The heat in her cheeks spread down her chest, her arms. Suddenly it was too hot in the house, like sun on a battlefield. "It's okay, Violet. We're all a little foolish sometimes."

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," she said, voice small in the open expanse of the living room.

"I am," he said honestly. "I've made some really fucking stupid choices in my life. A lot of them have been recently too, with business and stuff."

"Oh…John Storms isn't a good man," Violet mumbled, picking up her own glass in vain effort to have the alcohol settle her nerves. Michael's hand was still on her knee, lingering. There were sparks under her skin, fizzling and making her feel invigorated. A warning bell was going off at the back of her skull, but the way he smiled kept fooling her. He just looked so sad, like he was trying so hard to make her understand something she hadn't been able to grasp yet.

"No," Michael said after a moment. "He isn't a good man. I don't think any man is a good man."

"There have to be some," Violet said. Because her father had been a good man, once upon a time when he'd been alive. He'd fought for his country and taken care of his family the best he could. Matthias Porter had never hurt anyone in his life, not even on the battlefield. He'd done mostly inspection until there had been an attack on his base and he'd been shot, died instantly as the bullet had hit his heart. "I knew a good man, once."

Michael's eyes flashed at her words then, his hand slipping farther up from her knee to the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitched in her chest and she felt dizzy as Michael set his glass on the table so he could lean in, just a breath away from her. "I wish you could know a one again," he said, and before Violet could ask if _he_ was good or not, his lips were on hers.

* * *

When she'd invited Michael inside, she honestly hadn't expected this. She'd thought maybe they would talk and he would kiss her goodnight if she was able to send him home before falling asleep on the couch or something, but she hadn't planned for the kiss to be like _this_. Everything in her felt on fire, her toes curling as she let out a small gasp and dropped her glass onto the carpet, liquid inside staining everything a bloody red. And Michael somehow took her shock for invitation, tangled his fingers in her hair and tried to deepen the kiss, pressing her back against the arm of the couch where the fabric of her coat rubbed up against her elbows, itchy and hot.

"Oh," she said as Michael fit himself in between her thighs, so close and unfathomable to her suddenly hazy mind. "Oh," she said again as he kissed her harder than before.

Her hands shook as she tried to cup the sides of his face, fingers tangling in his hair. He was a good kisser, she couldn't help but think. He wasn't gentle but he was warm, and he seemed eager to be able to get his mouth on hers, hands digging into the flesh of her waist. Yet something about this just wasn't…_right_. She didn't have that unnamable excitement in her chest anymore. Instead she felt empty and wrong and sad that Michael's kisses couldn't be right.

_He isn't Logan,_ a little voice in her head whispered then. _He isn't who you want._

* * *

Her hands couldn't move then. She stopped kissing Michael back but he scarcely felt it, moving his lips to her neck and pressing biting kisses there. Something _ping_ed against the floor and Michael forced his teeth into her neck harder, almost maliciously. It hurt, she couldn't help but think. It _hurt_. "Michael," she said wearily, tangling her hands in his hair to pull him away. He mistook it for passion, became more aggressive and left Violet arching away from him, about ready to smack him if she needed to just to get him _off of her_.

Luckily, the doorbell ringing saved her.

She breathed out a sigh of relief as Michael backed away, his eyes wide and golden. Marea was barking in the backyard from the sound of the bell chimes. And for a moment Michael gazed at the reddening marks on Violet's neck and suddenly regret took over his features. "Fuck, Violet I– I'm _sorry_," he said, but she waved him off in shaky nerve, stood from the couch and smoothed down her skirt that had rucked up her thighs in the middle of the kissing.

Taking in a shaky breath, she walked to the front door and grabbed the bowl of Halloween candy off the entry table where she'd stashed it. When she opened the door it was to the smiling faces of children. There were three– a fairy, a soldier, and a grim reaper. "Trick-or-treat," they all said in unison. Just at the bottom of the front stoop Violet could see their mothers in a gaggle, holding mugs of steaming liquid to keep warm from the cold; even the kids had winter coats over their costumes.

* * *

It was then she saw it was snowing.

* * *

The gasp that left her mouth shocked both the children and their mothers. Violet quickly disguised it with the brightest smile she could manage over her sudden fear and panic. "What wonderful costumes you have!" she said cheerily, plopping a mini bag of Skittles into each of the children's offered bags. "You all look just like the real thing."

"Thank you!" the children said in unison once they'd all gotten their treats, running off the stoop into their waiting mothers' arms.

Violet grinned after them before abruptly shutting the door, setting the candy bowl on the table with tremors she thought would make her frozen bones break. The cold was seeping into her marrow. And the sudden heat at her back burning instead of thawing made her jump, a half-scream coming from her mouth as arms encircled her waist.

"Hey, it's just me," Michael tried to calm then.

Violet spun to face him, pulling back and hitting her shoulders against the wall with an _umph_. His eyes were boring into hers now, a feral sort of gold that she'd known once long ago. _But it couldn't be…_ she thought to herself helplessly. Her senses were again alerted to the _pull_ in Michael, the familiar lines of his hands. Hands of a warrior, but one much older than the war he'd spoken of fighting in over dinner.

_No._ It _couldn't_ be. She would've known so long ago, wouldn't she? She would've known better… _You never did with Logan. You never stood a chance._

"I'm kind of tired," said Violet then, words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. Michael seemed shock, but didn't comment and so she continued. "I had fun, I did. I just…I have work tomorrow, and I should probably get to bed. Sorry to kick you out early, but–"

"It's okay," Michael said, seeming to take on a sudden air of calm. This panicked her even further. He shrugged his shoulders, gave her an easy smile that had her knees quivering. "How about I call you tomorrow, though?"

"Yeah, sure," Violet said easily, wanting to do anything to give Michael the illusion of the lie she'd just created and get him out of the house so she could be alone and _think_.

* * *

_It's snowing; the first snow. It's snowing._

* * *

"Um, I'll go get my phone and you can put your number in it, okay?" she said.

Michael nodded, let her slip past him to go into the kitchen where she'd left her purse. Marea was still barking up a storm outside and Violet considered letting her in for half a moment, but if she was wrong about this sudden uneasy feeling with Michael and Marea attacked… Flexing shaking hands into fists, she quickly dug through her purse and found her phone. The light was flashing at the top–_ messages_– and when she took it off lock she could clearly see the announcement of ten missed calls, six voicemails.

All of them were from Logan.

The herbs on the kitchen windowsill surged to life with her anxieties as she momentarily forgot of her worries about Michael and opened her voicemail to listen to Logan's last message. She _had_ to know what was happening. Because it was snowing. It was snowing and they hadn't prepared for this. They hadn't _expected_ this, not so soon. Had not planned for it at all. Even the weather channels and forecasters had not predicted snow on the east coast until mid-November.

She entered her password into the dial screen and waited for the _six new messages_ announcement to finish, absently feeling at the forming welts on her neck were Michael had bitten her– hot to the touch and stinging– as the caller I.D. listed Logan's contact name before there was a familiar _beep_, a pause, and then, "_Violet? Violet, are you alright? … Violet. Violet, Pick. Up. Your. __**Phone.**__ I am up to my goddamn neck in fucking worry here. If you don't answer the next time I call, I'm coming to your house… I don't– I don't fucking care if you don't want me to. I am __**not**__ letting you get hurt…_" A pause, a shaky inhale of breath."_… It's snowing. It's fucking __**snowing**_ _and winter has never meant anything good for us._" Another pause, the sound of keys jingling and a door slamming closed. "_Look, Violet, I'm sorry. I never meant any of it. I'm sorry and I'm not losing you again._" Another door slamming closed, a car engine starting. "_I'm coming over._"

"Well, I guess he'll be calling _us_ then," said a voice from behind her.

A small shriek escaped Violet, herbs shattering their vases, body spinning and phone dropping to the floor. It split into pieces, the backing and battery scattering across the floor. No way to call for help. Marea barked furiously and clawed at the back door, Galanthias nowhere to be found. No trick-or-treaters to save her this time around.

And Michael was just standing there in the kitchen archway, hands tucked into his pockets and stance casual as he looked at the splattered dirt across the countertop, the roots slithering down into the sink. His eyes were the same golden tone they'd always been, but now they were glowing and tinged in red. She could see it then– see the man, the _God_ he'd once been. The God who had tried to charm over Persephone with armor, a spear, a shield. The God who had wanted the pretty new play toy for when he got bored of slitting throats on the battlefield.

A God that was not Michael at all.

"Ares," Violet whispered, the silence in the room staggering.

Michael grinned, all sharp teeth. "At your service, _Persephone_."

"Don't call me that," Violet snapped. "I'm no more Persephone than you are _him_, Michael."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure me and Ares are one in the same," Michael said, taking a leisurely step towards her.

She could run, she thought. She could run and let Marea in and call for Aster and Tobias to help. Just three steps to the door, roots licking at her quivering palms… She took the first step–

"Ah, ah, ah, Violet," Michael warned, shaking a finger at her as if she were a child for scolding. "Now why would you wanna go and call the centaurs in here and risk Danny's life like that?"

"_What_?" Violet asked, her tone turning to venom and adrenaline spiking through her veins. The abrupt fear his statement had inspired in her was so overwhelming it turned to rage, the roots of the herbs shriveling and turning grotesque with thorns. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"Language, Violet," Michael chuckled, his mocking tone so unlike the man she'd just interacted with less than ten minutes ago. "It's not very lady-like to curse."

"What are you talking about?!" she asked him again instead of leading into his little game. "Where's Danny? What have you done to Danny?!"

"Nothing, nothing," Michael assured, two palms out now in universal peace as the roots coiled around her wrists on prickly guard. With her momentary pause the shrunk back into the sink. And then Michael dropped his hands with a smirk to say, "_Yet_."

The bite of tears was suddenly overwhelming, but Violet would not let herself cry. This man, God, _monster_, would not have the pleasure of watching her break. Instead she sucked in her terror, straightened her spine and looked him in the eye as the herbs died completely in her fright. "What do you want?"

"Why you, of course," Michael said easily, taking another step towards her now that the plants were no longer a threat. The instinct in her told her to run, told her not to let herself be dragged out of this house _again_. The last time someone had tried to attack her here they'd succeeded, though she knew at this point Michael was less apt to treat her as well as Logan ever had. "And you boyfriend. Can't get the Keys of Hades without him."

"But that's impossible!" Violet said, shaking her head. "He has nothing from his past! There is no way you can use the spell if–"

"Oh but he _does_ have something from his past. He has _you_." Michael interrupted her then, closing the final breath of space between them. It was enough to throw Violet off before she could ask what he meant by the statement. Make her shut her eyes as his hand came up to cup her neck, pressing into the bites he'd left there. It hurt, it hurt so much and how had she never felt the divinity inside of him before? The overwhelming power long kept dormant? It was then she realized the amulet Evangeline had given her was no longer around her neck– the _ping_ she'd heard as metal hit floor, the sudden wave of horror at Michael's touch.

The amulet had kept her from realizing this whole time.

_Stupid girl_, she thought to herself as Michael leaned in to kiss her, pulling her face away with a growl. Michael laughed at that, chuckled even louder when she tried to get out of his grip, arms pinned at her sides where he pressed against her. "Fairgrave's a lucky man to have you, you know," Michael said. "You're a sweet girl. Hell, I wish it didn't have to be like this. I did like you, Violet."

She had the sudden urge to spit at him, but kept herself contained as he pulled away from her just slightly, tucking hair behind her ears. "Now, about _Danny_," he said, keeping his grip on her so she wouldn't run. "See, the people I work for, they have someone tailing him right now. One call from me that you're not cooperating, and there might be an…_accident_ at that Halloween party of his."

"You wouldn't," Violet sobbed despite herself, no tears just udder fear. "Oh God, Michael, you _wouldn't_."

"No, I wouldn't," Michael said. Something flashed in his eyes then– the man Violet thought he was– but it was gone in an instant and replaced with bloody gold. "But _Ares_ would. And my bosses would, too. It's not up to me anyways, Violet. It's up to _you_. See, if you come with me and tell your guard friends that everything is fine, then no harm comes to Danny.

"When Fairgrave comes to the house for you he'll find in your place a note that tells him what number to call to ensure yours and Danny's safety. And then we can get this show on the road and leave you and Danny alone, I promise," Michael said, the sincerity she had so seen in him before peeking through. He looked almost like he pitied her. She didn't want his pity; she wanted to kill him for the way he was bargaining with Danny's life so frivolously. And so he laughed at her. "I can _feel _the bloodlust in you, Violet. And as enthralling as it is, you're going to have to put it aside for now. All you have to do is cooperate, Violet. Don't make things hard on your little brother just because you're stubborn."

She should have been torn, she should have fought against Michael more. But this was _Danny_ that he was threatening her with. That boy's life mattered to her more than her own. _But Logan…_ Gods, Logan mattered more to her than herself, too. But not more than Danny. Damn her to the darkest pits of Tartarus, but she couldn't endanger Danny for the man.

"Fine," she said after just a moment's hesitation. "Fine. I'll go with you."

Michael smiled with a victoriously vicious grin meant only for Ares and not himself. "Good. Go get your coat while I write Fairgrave a note."

She did as she was told in a numbed stupor. The thought of escape was gone in her. It was survival mode. It was a mantra of '_protect Danny_', the thing her father had always told her before he left for tours, what her mother had always told her before she'd gone mad. _Protect Danny_ because he was just a child, a _mortal_ that needn't be involved with any of this.

Michael met her in the living room, the red having eased from his gaze. He looked almost…_guilty_ now, even sorrowful. Violet didn't have the energy to keep up with his rampant emotions though; she let him put a tentative hand to the small of her back and lead her out of the house towards his car, talking to her in a low voice about a party– a Halloween party with his friends downtown or something.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "We can get you a pair of cat-ears and you'll have a costume and fit right in…"

_It's a ruse, _she realized as she spotted Aster down the street then, cigarette perched between his lips like a question. Blinking, she gave him a false smile, a nod of the head. _It's okay,_ she was saying. But it was obvious he didn't much believe her, took a few steps towards where Michael was opening the passenger door for her to get into the car. She shook her head in renewed panic, mouthed, "_No. Stay. Please._" while Michael wasn't looking.

Aster blinked, took another step but the desperation in Violet's eyes stopped him and he stood frozen in the snowfall, staring after her in torn servitude. It was long enough pause for Michael to shut her door, slide into the driver's seat and start the car. He pulled away from the curb quickly, before Aster could catch them, frame fading into darkness.

* * *

The streets blurred together and Violet gripped the edges of the seat, adrenaline racing in her veins and overwhelming thoughts on her mind. "Where are we going?" was the only question she could bring herself to ask above the din.

Michael shook his head. "I can't tell you. In fact I'm supposed to knock you out."

"Then why not just do it?" Violet asked.

He was silent for a moment, enough to make her angry at his sudden irrational behavior. She was about to start yelling at him when he said, "Look, Violet. I didn't choose any of this. I didn't know what I was getting myself involved in when I took Dionysus' deal –"

"_Dionysus_?" she asked in alarm.

Michael nodded. "Yeah. I was desperate. I didn't even remember who I was until about a month ago." He shuddered, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by Violet. "Sometimes it's just like Ares…_takes over_. I feel like I'm separate from him, but there's this suppressed _rage_ in me that his memories feed off of and I'm not in control of myself. Like back at your house– I'm sorry about your neck. I'm sorry I touched you like that back there. I didn't–"

"Stop." she said, tired and defeated yet itching for a fight. "Just stop it, Michael. Don't apologize for meaningless things. It won't make me forgive you for this."

He blinked, took the next turn at a dangerously high speed. "I guess you're right," he eventually said. "I was a coward in my first life and I'm one in this life too." And he left it at that, kept driving at a fast pace as the streets faded around them. Before long though he said, "There's chloroform in the glove compartment. I'm gonna have to pull the car over and…"

"Just do it," Violet said.

With a decisive nod, he pulled the car to a stop on a vacant street. All the porch lights were turned out, no trick-or-treaters welcome. Shaking hands opened the glove compartment; Violet watched him mutedly as he poured clear liquid onto a handkerchief with flowers stitched into it. _Ironic_, she thought numbly as Michael leaned over the console towards her.

Before he could press the handkerchief to her face though, she said, "Promise me Danny's going to be okay." She grabbed the lapels of his jacket in desperation, digging claws in. "_Promise me_."

He hesitated, looked her in the eye and said, "I promise," before he was atop her and she was suffocating and everything was dark. Nothing but rotting pomegranates and maggots feasting on her corpse, blank eyes and a cold that could never be fixed.


	45. The Reveal

**A/N**: Hey guys sad to say my laptop broke and i'm updating from my parents' computer real quick so please don't hate me if a pop in an out randomly or updates slow. We're almost to the end of the story though, which is amazing and just unfathomable to me because in my six years of seriously writing I have never once finished a novel like this. It's all thanks to you guys and your encouragement; I can't express my affections enough!

* * *

The drive to Violet's house was spent in so much anxiety, Logan nearly ran himself off the road eight separate times.

She wasn't picking up her phone and he was panicking, damn it. Because they hadn't planned for this; they hadn't planned for the first snow so soon and it meant trouble and she could be in trouble and he didn't know what he would do with himself if she got hurt.

Everything he had said that day she'd left had been an utter lie. She was the closest thing to family he had ever had, and he'd only told her she wasn't so she'd leave and wouldn't come back. He knew how much she was dying by staying with him; the light he'd seen in her was fading more and more as the days went on. It had been the same with Hades and Persephone, and Logan was in no mind to repeat the mistakes of his past. He wouldn't damage Violet anymore for selfish reasons.

Once, not long ago, he wouldn't have cared. He would've simply kept her, told Albany and Danny to fuck off. But Violet had changed him. She'd made him realize that there were more important things in life than leading for your own agenda. Like making the person you loved _happy_, and she hadn't been happy with him– _had she?_ No. She needed her family; her _real_ family, not the imitation one he'd forced upon her. He knew that if Violet lost her brother, if Danny was sent off to a different state on his own just because Logan had been too egocentric to let Violet go, it would have killed her.

And he would not do that to her; he _couldn't_.

It was as if loving Violet had shattered him and then put him back together again, only the pieces fit together better than they had the first time. She'd made him see he was a man of bone and skin and she was a woman of the same and that was what they were and always had been– not Gods, merely people. And he loved her, and he'd had to let her go because that was the _right_ thing to do and he'd spent too long choosing the wrong.

But now, he wondered if the whole thing had been a mistake. What if, in letting her go, he'd put Violet in harm's way?

His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator at the thought, car racing silently through the streets. He made it to Boston in a third the time it normally took him, narrowly dodging trick-or-treaters and drunken party-goers. If there was one silver lining from this day, it was that at least Hecate was acting like her old self again. Thaddeus mentioned it was probably from the worship behind the Pagan holiday being celebrated; that kind of divinity may have restored what Hecate had lost during the last spell.

_It won't matter if Violet's hurt though, _he thought to himself morosely.

He'd let the whole world burn before he saw her injured in any kind of way. He knew his prior actions had hurt her, as had the lies he'd spit in her face when she'd left. He'd be damned if her associations with him brought the woman anymore damage. _Not an option,_ he had told himself in all the times he'd thought to go to her in this past month and a half, beg for her to come back. He couldn't keep asking her to put her life on hold for him. She'd been a normal girl long before she'd remembered she was a Goddess; it was unfair to keep asking so much of her.

It was why when John had called in regards to meetings in finding the others, or discussing plans of the first snow, Logan had so thoroughly declined. He'd told the man Violet was still with him– told _everyone_ the same. They had to leave her alone; if Logan was out of her life for the most part, he'd make sure the others were too. He wanted Violet to have the normal life she deserved, and that meant making certain the others didn't come around to bug her just because she wasn't glued to Logan's side any longer.

Yet by this point he really hoped Violet wasn't picking up her phone because Fawn or Charlotte or Janet had come to annoy her. Or Albany; wish of all fucking wishes the Nymph had been the one to distract Violet from taking his calls.

When Logan finally pulled up in front of Violet's house, it was to see a grave looking guard sitting on the steps, snow collecting on the centaur's shoulders.

Panic settling into his chest, Logan quickly got out of the car and slammed the door shut, not even bothering to turn it off as he raced up the steps to the guard. The centaur looked up to him slowly, eyes seeming distraught as he shook his head in silent failure.

"What is it?" Logan asked, unable to keep the alarm from his voice. "Is Violet alright?"

"I tried to stop her, my Lord," said the guard, running a hand through his hair irately. "But she wouldn't let me."

"_What are you talking about?_" Logan asked, frantic now. He reached out to grab the guard's shirt and yank him forwards, the other hand balled into an upraised fist. "Tell me what happened _right now_, or I swear on the Styx I will not hesitate to rip out your throat, _centaur_."

The guard did not seem disturbed by the threat. He kept his expression neutral, stance deflated as he held out then a slip of paper, rough-looking scrawl written on it in old Greek. Logan knew that handwriting– more specifically _Hades_ knew it. The hand was Ares', the God of War and a God Hades had not liked one bit. He'd been sniveling and cruel like his father, and he'd tried to woo Persephone even long after she'd accepted Hades' hand in marriage.

Steam rose in Logan's throat then as he held the paper up into the light of the porch, trick-or-treaters swarming by in colorful costumes, their mothers and fathers trailing behind.

* * *

_Dear King Hades,_

_ If you wish to see your Persephone safe again, do be a good little God and call this number. We'll make sure she is safe in the meantime, but if you don't give us what we want…well, she is only mad of human flesh, after all._

* * *

There was a number after the note, Logan's breath coming in rapid pants as he let go of the centaur's shirt completely, sinking down on the steps next to the now once more slumped guard as his head began to swim. "How?" he asked, eyes unbelieving and wild.

"She came back to the house with a man," the guard said, glancing guiltily into the street. "I saw no immortal in him though, my Lord. She looked happy. I do not understand _how_ I let that brute slip past but–"

"Violet wears a necklace that shrouds her divinity," Logan explained tiredly. "If the man was touching her–" he withheld the jealousy and anger threatening to make him burn something alive– "then it probably cloaked his too."

The guard nodded. "They went inside for just a bit. She put the dog outside, but she always has had to do that with guests… My partner and I kept watch; there seemed nothing unordinary. Just as if they were finishing out a date.

"But when they left, I could see the fear in her. The man was talking of a Halloween party they may go to, but I knew it was a ploy. I could tell something was _off _about him by this point, and so I tried to see what was going on, but she begged me not to come any closer and they left. Not a few moments later Tobias– my partner– came to tell me she'd forgotten the dog outside, which she never does before leaving. We went into the house to inspect and found that note, as well as her cell-phone broken on the ground."

"And you didn't trail them?" Logan asked weakly. He had not the energy to expend his anger on the guard; he would save it for Ares and whoever else took Violet.

"Tobias did," the guard said, sighing. "We decided I should wait here for you, since the note hinted you would come. I called your home, but was answered by one of the staff that said you were already on your way over here."

Logan shook his head, stood and took out his cell-phone which sure enough said he had one missed text message from Thaddeus, alerting him to drive to Violet's house faster. Taking a shaky breath, Logan again looked to the note in his hand. "Did you catch the name of the man who came home with Violet?"

"Michael," said the guard. "She called him Michael."

Logan's brows creased. That name seemed familiar, a memory on the edge of his senses… "And your partner, has he kept lead on them?"

"No, my Lord," said the guard softly, staring at his hands in remorse. "They lost him on the highway; the snow has caused a good number of wrecks, as it has brought about black-ice all over the roadways."

Logan should have guessed as much; he remembered how out-of-control his own car had felt on the trip over. The wheels had been slipping on the pavement every which way, but he'd blamed the high speeds he'd been pushing and not the probability of bad roadways. It hadn't been very cold last winter and so he'd forgotten just how much damage frost could do to the world.

"Where's Violet's brother, Danny?" Logan asked, knowing it was what Violet would have wanted– to make sure Danny was safe before she was.

"At a party, with friends," the guard said, standing so he could better look Logan in the eye. "Tobias and I called in a friend to look after him. He reported that Daniel is fine, but will keep closer tabs on the boy for the rest of the night."

"Good," Logan said, hands shaking as he gripped his cell-phone tightly, steam crushing his lungs. "I am going to go inside to make this call. Do not fail at your job again and let anyone else inside."

"Of course, my Lord," the guard said, posture rigid and alert as Logan opened the front door and slammed it closed behind himself.

He could practically feel all of the leftover divinity in the room, thrumming through his veins like a shot of adrenaline. There was the sweetness of Violet, and also a thick overhang of a divinity he'd felt long ago. _Ares._ Without thinking, Logan turned and kicked the entry table over with a curse, nothing but contempt and loathing for both Ares and himself.

How could he let this happen?

Marea suddenly came shooting like a rocket from another room in the house at the racket he'd caused, probably having been let in by the guards. She was barking a storm until she saw Logan standing there. Quickly, the dog put her head down in a submissive pose, giving a soft whine.

"I know you tried to help her," Logan said, scratching behind the dog's ears softly. "Looks like we both failed in that aspect."

Marea whined again, pulled away from his touch to go over around the living room couch and bark. Logan walked over to her and stooped low, finding spilt wine over the floor in a bloody puddle. In the middle of the mess was the amulet Hecate had given Violet for her birthday, the chain snapped. It at least explained how the guard had been able to identify Ares when he'd left the house.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Logan picked up the charm and gripped it in his palm.

_This is entirely my fault,_ he thought, and quickly input the number into his phone before hitting the _call_ button and pocketing the amulet to keep safe for Violet until he got her back safely, which he was going to no matter what.

The other end of the call picked up after the second ring, a voice he'd never heard before answering. "_Hello, Uncle Hades,_" purred a man in a soft accent touched by madness. "_I must say, you called quicker than we expected you to._"

"Where's Violet?" Logan asked, not in the mood to bullshit around. "I swear to Tartarus, if you hurt her you son of a bitch–"

"_Now don't go insulting your wife, Uncle. After all, she did rebirth me with your brother. At least, that's what I've had the world believing for a good while now, isn't it?_"

"Dionysus," Logan sneered in disgust and rage. "I should've ringed your sniveling little neck a long time ago!"

"_Wouldn't have stopped me from being here!_" Dionysus cackled, the same stark-raving lunatic he'd always been. Logan should have known that wherever Ares was, his brother was sure to follow. Those two had been quite the pair once upon a time. War and madness, blood and wine– the perfect combinations. "_But truly, Uncle, I cannot believe you would think I would hurt my favorite half-sister! Oh how I so loved her dearly… It was why I chose her to bear the myth of my rebirth. She was the Dread Queen, after all. Who better than to scare men away than the Goddess with a title like that and a husband who ruled the dead?!_"

"Cut the fucking games, Dionysus," Logan growled, closing his hands into fists. Marea was sitting at his side now, grumbling softly at the phone. That damned cat that had given Logan so much trouble when he'd initially kidnapped Violet had appeared on the coffee table like a ghost, watching him with weary eyes. Dionysus had drawn an audience, and Logan liked to bet every one of its members was ready to kill the little mad fuck of a God. "Tell me what you want _now_."

"_Why your help of course, Uncle!_" said Dionysus boisterously. "_I am sorry that we had to meet again on such…_unpleasant_ terms. But you see, we had no other way of earning your favor what with those pesky Olympians breathing down your neck. See, we do _so_ need your Keys, Uncle. I'm sure you already know the reasons as to why, what with the Fates at your beck-and-call this life._"

Logan swore under his breath, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose furiously. "If you know all of that, then why _don't_ you _fucking_ know that I don't have the means to get to my Keys? No one does. You should've stolen something else from the Underworld, if you wanted them so much."

"_Oh, but Uncle, don't _you_ understand that we already _do have_ something from the Underworld, and from your past too. We have your _wife_._"

"What are you talking about?" Logan asked, even more on edge than before. "If you've so much as touched her–"

"_You'll have to speak to Ares about that one,_" laughed Dionysus. Logan proceeded to curse the little prat out in every language he knew, all the way from ancient Greek to Mandarin. "_Okay, okay; relax Uncle. Michael and Violet's attraction was chaste at best. Seems she truly can love only you. We have not harmed her though; she is safe and sleeping peacefully. Her brother is fine too, in case you were wondering._"

Logan felt dread in the pit of his stomach then, knowing now why Violet had gone with Ares so willingly: they'd threatened Danny. He'd rip the God's head off for that, and shove it up Dionysus' ass just for messing with Violet in the first place.

"_You see, Uncle, we need her very much unharmed. The both of you, actually. Blood can be so tainted by fear._"

"Why would you need our blood?" asked Logan, half tempted to smash something in anger at all of Dionysus' riddles, but knowing he couldn't because this was Violet's house and he didn't have the right to break anything that could somehow be precious to her.

"_Haven't you figured it out yet, Uncle?_" Dionysus chuckled. "_Your blood is _the_ spell for finding the Keys. What better way than to use blood magic's own element? Persephone is of your past, after all. And as her blood runs through Violet's veins, we have everything that we need. Provided you come down here to ensure your beloved's safety, of course._"

The information made Logan pause in sudden realization and dread. Steam rattled his chest, breath coming short. Because _of course_ Violet would be the solution to everything. Of course. She was from his past, forever had been. She was a part of him, a keeper of the Keys just as much as anyone else. How had he not seen it before? How _Hecate_ not seen it before? Or Zeus, or the Fates, or _anyone_ _but_ Dionysus and the bastards he was working with.

"What do I have to do?" Logan asked, defeated as he slumped onto the couch. He had no other choice than to give in– they had Violet, for Gods' sake. If the only way to get her back was to give them himself, he'd do it in a heartbeat. They could kill him for all he cared, as long as Violet was safe. Hell, they could break out the Titans and destroy the whole universe, if only they promised Violet no harm in the process.

"_Good man, Uncle,_" Dionysus said then, and Logan could hear the victory in the God's arrogant, crazy little voice. "_I assure you, neither Violet nor her brother nor shall yourself be harmed, as long as you follow my instructions _entirely_. I shall text an address to your phone, and you will come _alone _in exactly an hour. If you do not, we shan't hesitate to kill Violet's brother, and then the both of you after the spell is finished. You will not put up struggle when you come. You will give us everything we ask for, and then we will let you and little Violet go. Do you understand, Uncle?_"

"Yes," Logan said. "I understand. I'll do it."

"_Good,_" said Dionysus. "_I shall see you soon, Uncle. Don't be late._"

* * *

Michael watched Violet regretfully as she slept.

She was completely innocent, mouth parted and eyes fluttering behind her lids in dream.

He had never wanted to hurt her– the marks on her neck made him feel disgusted and ten times the lowest scum of the earth. In excuse, he'd tried to tell himself he hadn't been in control when he'd done it, or when he'd threatened her back at her house. It had been Ares, the beast it had always been since Michael had remembered his old self.

A week's worth of torture had left him ignorant no longer, but he wasn't in control of his head anymore. It was like there were two people rattling around in there, and Ares always got the upper hand. The God was a fucking monster that left Michael at a loss of self, a loss of sanity.

Dino– it was still odd calling the man _Dionysus_ so Michael didn't much bother with proper names anymore; Dino was close enough anyways– had said Violet wouldn't come willingly, but Michael had somehow hoped she would. Especially after talking with her at dinner, getting to know her better behind the wide-eyes and curls. She was such a sweet girl; a mother to her little brother even though she didn't have to be; never said a bad word about anyone, not even Fairgrave who'd obviously ripped out the poor thing's heart and stomped on it.

She'd been so trusting in Michael, had invited him inside because she was lonely. He could tell as much, at least. She was lonely just like him, but he'd silently begged her to see past that. Turn him out. And she'd been so crestfallen when he'd told her he wasn't who he'd pretended to be; had put her own life on the line for her little brother and it had made Michael hate himself even more for doing this to her. He was right when he'd told her he was a coward– always had been.

And Gods how he'd wished since the start of the night everything Dino had said about the girl was wrong, but when he'd watched that flower at dinner wilt and bloom, wilt and bloom, he'd known Violet wasn't going to get away from all of this, no matter how much Michael wanted her to.

Sighing, he pulled the quilt atop her body higher around her shoulders. Violet mumbled something and rolled over with a yawn. Fairgrave would be here soon, and Michael couldn't spend all his time feeling guilty and watching Violet even if he wanted to. Quickly, he walked out of the room they were keeping Violet in at the abandoned warehouse Dino's associates had picked for the meeting, locking the door behind himself.

The whole place smelled like mold and rusted metal, but at least Violet's room was still in decent enough shape the mildew wouldn't smother her.

Drifting down the hall, he opened the door into the rendezvous point, which was a loading dock with the doors drawn shut while the snow flurried on outside. There were just five other people in the vicinity– enough to contain Fairgrave were he not to cooperate but not too many as to draw unneeded attention.

Nemesis was one of those people, the start of all of this. She was as bitter a Goddess as ever, hair around her in wild black curls, eyes glowing red. Luckily she was busy with Anteros, her beloved boy-toy, to notice Michael as the two whispered secretly and grinning like a Cheshire.

It was enough to make Michael shiver– the divinity of the woman rolled off in sickening waves. She'd been around longer than the rest, she'd said upon first meeting him. "So many people want pain and revenge. It's the human race's nature to worship me, even if they don't admit it. I mean, don't you feel strong, Michael? Isn't that why you were a soldier for so long? Doesn't war just fuel your blood?" He hadn't answered her then, hadn't wanted to admit she was right.

Glancing away, Michael's eyes landed on Dino who lounged easily in a fold-out chair in the corner of the doc. Pallas and Cratos were outside guarding the doors, brought over from Istanbul with them to keep watch.

Michael remembered how he hadn't been able to get out of that place fast enough– Istanbul no longer meant anything good for him. The only regrets he had of booking it the moment he knew who he truly was, was leaving Helen. She'd nearly cried when he'd left, wished him well and treated him like a stranger she'd thought she'd known once. It was just as well, he'd told himself. He wasn't Michael Halefire anymore; he didn't know if he ever had been in the first place.

Sighing, Michael took a seat next to Dino, pulling out a cigarette in hopes the nicotine would settle his nerves.

"Those things will kill you, you know," said Dino, giving Michael a leer both mocking and true.

Michael shrugged, lit the cigarette and offered Dino the pack. "I'll just be reborn again anyways."

"True," said Dino, and after a moment her took a cigarette of his own, thanking Michael when he gave the man a light. "Ariadne hates when I smoke cigars. Always kicks me out of bed because she thinks I smell so awful from the smoke."

Michael resisted the urge to correct him then, to tell Dino his wife's name was _Helen_ this time around. But it felt like lying– what had once been Michael's reality seemed entirely false now. A façade made by an ignorant mind. He wondered how he'd been blind for so long. Thought maybe he hadn't really ever been, but just refused to believe what his subconscious tried to tell him.

"Promise me Violet's not gonna get hurt in all of this, even if Fairgrave does resist?" Michael asked after a moment, blew a ring of smoke and cast a subtle glance at Nemesis. He didn't trust her, not on his life or his once immortality. She'd been bad news when they were Gods and was even worse news now that they were mortal. He wouldn't put it past the woman to kill Violet just for kicks.

"I promise, brother," said Dino then, clapping Michael on the back. The man was absolutely peachy now that Michael could understand the connotation behind the nickname. "Like I said, I've always been quite fond of Persephone. I was the one that encouraged you to court her, after all. So we could keep her on Olympus with us instead of the fields of her mother."

"The reason Demeter turned me down like all the others," Michael frowned, leaning forwards with forearms stretched across his knees. "I guess she was right in doing that. I wouldn't have been faithful, back then. I was a bastard if there ever was one. Still can't believe I banged Aphrodite for so long and just spit in her husband's face about it."

"Hmmm," mused Dino, puffing on his cigarette languidly. "Yes, you seem to have a lot more courtesy with Ariadne."

Michael cringed at the comment, didn't respond.

Dino laughed. "No worries, brother. You know that we have always shared everything."

_People aren't meant to be shared like property,_ Michael wanted to say, but he knew it would make him a hypocrite. And if there was one human memory he'd kept above all others, it was his old bastard of a father telling him there was nothing worse than a hypocrite, not even a cowardly bastard like Michael himself.

Inhaling another drag, Michael was about to ask Dino when the show would hurry up and begin, tired of waiting in guilt and dread, when suddenly Nemesis perked up from where she was chatting it up with Anteros, looking much the villainess in her red heels and designer jeans. "He's here," she said, sultry drawl with barely contained rage. "Oh, how marvelous this shall be! One step closer to releasing our grandparents, brothers! Won't Papa Zeusy be so furious!" She laughed, more of a witch's cackle than anything. "Places, places, people. Let's give old Hades the proper show!"

Michael exhaled something like anxiety, something like bloodlust as he stood. Dashed out the cigarette beneath his boot and went to go get Violet, ready to play his part. He'd sold his soul to madness after all– he didn't have a choice.

Logan Fairgrave had arrived, and it was time for the big finale.


	46. The Woman with a Cackle

**A/N:** Hey guys, I just wanted to make note this is the second to last chapter, oh my. I also wanted to say, that as of the moment, my other stories are going to be on a bit of a hiatus until I can recover the files from my other laptop, which I can't give a definitive answer as to how long that will be. Hopefully soon. I'm almost finished with part two of And if Not Winter, so at least there's that once the file's recovered... I hope you like this chapter of bone and skin though; let me know what you think and what your hopes for the end are, yeah?

* * *

Violet woke up in a very dark and a very pungent room; pissed didn't begin to describe how she was feeling at the moment.

It was as if her temples had a pulse of their own, chloroform still nagging at her senses. She sat up with a groan and kicked off the quilt that had been draped over her. It smelled of sweat and fear and she was tired of that. She didn't want to be the scared little girl right now she wanted to kick someone's teeth in. Namely Michael's, or Ares', or whoever was controlling that cute pair of golden eyes that had fooled her from the start.

And she was worried for Danny, she was worried for Logan, but mainly she was enraged people had used their safety against her. Threaten her life, okay, sure, whatever. But threaten the lives of the people she loved and that was it.

One glance around the room told her she wasn't anywhere nice, unlike the last time she'd been knocked out and kidnapped. There was just enough light slipping under the door to show her the room was small, big enough to house only the bed she laid in and a lone fold-out chair.

Stretching her limbs felt like agony and she could taste chemicals on her tongue mixed with sleep. It kind of made her want to puke, but instead she swiveled to the edge of the bed, a bit frustrated to find she was only wearing one shoe, the other Gods knew where. Her dress was in wrinkles but still decent as she stood, falling in swish around her knees while the cold of the room bit at her bare calves. She was thankful that in her numbed stupor she'd at least had enough sense to grab her coat before leaving with Michael.

And desperately she hoped, despite hope of everything, Logan hadn't come after her. At least not alone. Because they'd ask him to come alone, wouldn't they? That's how the bad guys always did things they didn't like a fair fight. Violet hoped Logan had called Thaddeus the moment he'd been informed she'd been kidnapped. She hoped he'd gotten Chad to come along too, and Aster and Tobias and had sent someone to look after Danny, to keep the men Michael was working for away from him.

She hoped that Logan hadn't been irrational, but she also knew him better than to think her hope wasn't wasted on his usually not thought-out actions.

Sighing, she took a few steps towards the door then, tried the handle only to find it locked. It was industrial too, no hope of picking it even if she had something to work with. Frowning, she took a step back, shifted off her un-shoed foot so it wouldn't freeze against the concrete floor.

It was after a moment of debating to scream for help that she heard a door slam not too far away, wondered if it was someone come to check up on her. _Well,_ she thought irately. _If it is, I hope they don't expect a warm welcome._

With rash thought, she grabbed the foldout chair from beside the bed, collapsed it in upon itself and scrambled to push up against the wall next to the door. Within the next moment the lock was being twisted, the door opening with a creek on its hinges. "Violet?" asked a voice curiously Michael's voice.

She didn't think, just swung. And gave a squeak when Michael caught the chair in sudden reflex, tossed it off to the side. The movement took Violet by surprise and with the chair, fingers still gripping at its legs as she crumbled to the floor. "_Shit_!" she hissed, knees scraping against the concrete in sweet lick of blood.

"Violet," Michael said admonishingly. "You know better than to try and best a soldier in combat."

Not caring what the results would be, she spit at him. Laughed when he flinched and wiped at his face with a scowl. "Fuck you," she said, balled her hands into fists. "Fuck you and everyone you're working for! Fuck you all to the darkest depths of Tartarus where you belong with the rest of the Titans!"

Michael's eyes flashed then she saw the red of them even in the lackluster light filtering through the doorway from the hall. "Now a pretty girl like you shouldn't talk with such a filthy mouth, Violet," he said, reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulled her to a standing height even as she feebly clawed at his hands, cursing him the whole way. "It's hardly Queen-like."

"I'm no queen," she said, gave him a sneer before bringing her knee up into his groin with harsh motion just like Thaddeus had taught her to. Michael grunted in pain, let her go. "And you're no God." She acted on instinct then, the rest of the reflexes she'd learned from training with Thaddeus day-in and day-out. With swift limb she moved to kick Michael in the face where he was bent over from her last blow, years of playing soccer with Danny and her mother the driving force.

It was enough to make Michael fall to the floor, grunt as blood steadily dripped from his newly broken nose down his mouth, his chin, leaking onto the floor. But he was still awake, still alert enough to grab her ankle when she went to kick him again. Violet was able to contain a scream, not wanting to alert someone else to come and help Michael contain her as she fell. At last moment she managed to get her body to fall against Michael's chest to save impact, tried to squirm away but he had a strong hold on her arms. Not her hands though. She freely used those to claw at him, yank chunks of skin out of his sides.

"Fucking hell!" Michael cursed, threw her off of him in a violent motion. She landed in the light from the door's shadow, enough to scramble away. Michael tried grabbing for her ankles again, a wolf weakening prey, but one solid kick to his already broken nose had him crying out, falling back against the chair he'd thrown along with Violet to the floor not a minute before. "She's getting loose!" he screamed then, clutching his severely broken nose as blood started coloring the top of his shirt red. "She's getting aw"

Violet slammed the door closed on him then, thankful all she had to do was flick a switch and the deadbolt locked back into place. She could still hear Michael on the other side, but it was muffled and a barely-there sound. With relief she rested her head against the door, tried to slow her now labored breathing. A loud _bang_ had her lurching away, followed by another _bang_ and another and another. Michael was slamming his fists against the door, cursing at her and calling out for the others.

"Oh shut up you big baby!" Violet said with a roll of her eyes.

She gave the door a sharp kick, silenced Michael's antics for just a moment before they began again. Scowling, she threw her middle finger up at him, satisfied even if he couldn't see it.

Turning, she smoothed down her skirt triumphantly and glanced to the end of the hall, apprehension suddenly turning her insides a nervous mess of wilting vines. It was then she realized she'd lost her other shoe in the scuffle, completely barefoot now. Her coat was torn open and one sleeve was ripped off. Shaking, she took the broken coat off, tossed it on the floor and frettedly tried to fix her hair. It wasn't that she wanted to look nice for these people or anything. No, she wanted to look calm, capable and in control. They weren't going to scare her, she vowed to herself. She wouldn't be weak in front of them.

Because she may not have been a queen any longer, but she was still a Goddess. And whether she felt like that statement was really true or not, she refused to let her fear show and took a step forwards towards the door at the end of the hall.

* * *

The warehouse Logan pulled up in front of wasn't anything special. It looked like your standard, run of the mill final-showdown kind of place. Broken brick siding, smashed industrial windows, billowing towers no longer puffing smoke but giving way to rot and decay.

Logan turned off the car and got out simply to stare at the structure for a moment, hands gripping the hood of the car until his knuckles turned white. It was nearly midnight by now, on All Hallows' Eve no less. "How fucking poetic," Logan mumbled, gave a derisive snort before closing the car door and pulling his jacket tighter around himself, taking a step towards the warehouse with caution.

He'd called Thaddeus of course, let the brute know what was happening and made him swear on the Styx he wouldn't let anyone interfere. Dionysus had said for Logan to come alone, and so Logan had come alone. He wasn't about to risk letting Violet get hurt, and even Thaddeus had understood that. "_You bring that girl back alive,_" he'd said. "_So help me, Logan, you come back in one piece too._"

A few more steps and Logan could see his breath in the air, steam and death and dangerous warning. He could hear the bodies moving towards him, but Dionysus had said to cooperate or Violet and Danny would be dead. So when two dark shadows lunged for him, Logan didn't struggle.

Well, okay, he heated his skin and burned their hands a little when they touched him, but only at first.

The two men held fast despite the deterrent, solemn faces Logan had known long ago. "Cratos, Pallas," he nodded. "You're looking ugly as ever."

Pallas yanked him towards a door at the side of the building, expression unchanged. "Right this way, your _Highness_."

Logan rolled his eyes, glanced to Cratos who was keeping his gaze forwards. "Still the comic, this guy," Logan said, nodding to Pallas with a smirk. Cratos didn't answer him, just kept walking and so Logan said, "And you, my man, still silent and stupid as I remember." The sudden and almost bone-crushing grip against his arm told Logan that, at the least, Cratos was listening. "Nice to know my opinion matters," he said as final comment when Pallas reached forwards with his free hand and yanked the warehouse door open, allowing Cratos to push Logan inside with a heavy shove.

The two men followed, grabbing hold of Logan's arms again as they headed down a dark hall, the grate walk below their feet _snap-snap_ing with every step. "Gentleman, is the death grip really necessary?" Logan asked, willing to bait them further for the hell of it. "I'm obviously not going anywhere soon."

Neither man answered him, led him to another door and shoved him through it harsher than the first time. It was enough to make Logan stumble, trip over his own footing and take a moment to steady himself before he could take in his surroundings. Blinking, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting in the obvious loading room, making out the visage of old shipping crates shoved against the walls, an empty floor with light from the moon shining in through industrial windows above.

"Well Hades," said a female voice then, echoing off hollow spaces. A lone, almost feline figure stepped out from behind a metal support pillar, dirty curls tumbling down her shoulders and a solitary, wicked smirk on her face. "What a sight for sore eyes you are."

"Hello, Nemesis," Logan grinned, hands shoved in his pockets and stature easy even as Pallas and Cratos slammed the door closed behind him, flanked at his sides and ready for slaughter. "I believe you have something of mine and I'd like it back."

Nemesis laughed, a mad sort of cackle as she tipped her head back, rolled her neck with ticking _cracks_ once her hysterics were over. "I love how you treat her as property," she said, peach lips swelling in the moonlight. "Just what a woman wants. You always were one with the romantics, Hades."

"Some are born lucky that way," Logan said, eyes flashing as two figures stepped up beside Nemesis then. One was hulking, the other short and squat. "I see you and Anteris are still going at it, then."

"Always," Nemesis smirked, crinkle of the nose and eyes as she reached out to pet Anteris' arm then, an affectionate and possessive thing. And _he_ was the one treating _Violet_ like property; Logan wanted to laugh in that moment.

The feeling was lost though as Dionysus took a step forwards, aging face beneath the moonlight. "Hello Uncle," he said, mouth turning up at the corners in madness. "So good to see you again."

"Dionysus," Logan nodded. "Not that I don't want to catch-up, but I believe I was called here for business and not pleasure."

Dionysus chuckled, rubbed his fingers along the lines of his chin in a manner that reminded Logan of John and had him frowning. "You always did have a silver tongue, Uncle. But I can see you truly are in no mood for antics. So shall we get straight to it then?"

Logan opened his mouth, ready to grit out a tired '_yes_' when suddenly a door across the room clattered open. All heads turned in surprise, eyes catching on a waif-like frame that took a step forwards into the moonlight.

The woman looking back at him had Logan's breath catching in his throat.

Because there Violet stood, dress swishing around her frame like a cloak with wide eyes and a determined hardness about her. She appeared nearly wild with tangled hair and feral eyes, mouth quirked and back straight even as her fingers shook.

"Uh, hi," she said to the room, and it was then Logan realized she wasn't even wearing shoes and shook his head with a fondly disapproving smile, heart thrumming in his chest because it really _was_ her. She was alive and okay and standing just yards away, looking like the girl he loved more than anything. It had been a month and a half since he'd seen her, days racked with agony and guilt and missing her and telling himself not to let his need for her slip, not to beg her to come back in those moments she spared him a phone call, not to ruin her life anymore than he already had. _Good job you did there,_ he thought, just as Violet took another step forwards. "You might want to get a better guard," she said. "Michael's kind of a dumbass."

And at that, Logan couldn't contain his laughter both from humor and overwhelming relief she was alright, which landed him with a sharp blow to the head and a whirl to the ground. But the sudden pain and near black-out of it didn't matter, because Violet was okay, and calling out his name.

* * *

She'd made it all the way to the door at the end of the hall, only to stop behind the structure and shiver. Rang her hands together, bit her lip. Should she open it or should she not? What if she'd just caused more trouble than necessary by locking Michael into that room? What if the people behind this door hurt Danny now, because she'd hurt one of theirs? But what if they hurt Logan, when she had the chance to stop it now because she was free…

The sound of another door banging made her jump, senses twitching even as the talking started. Exact words were garbled, but she could make out the tones. One of which was very familiar. _Logan_. She pushed the door in front of her open without thought, rushed into the room and stopped once six pairs of eyes landed on her. Five of which she'd never seen before, but none of those mattered. The only gaze that did was Logan's, fathomless eyes she'd seen a million times before but felt like she almost never had at all. (_Dark eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness._)

"Um, hi," she said, mainly to him before she realized she had an audience, glanced around self-consciously because for Christ's sake how could she be intimidating like she wanted to be when she wasn't even wearing _shoes_? And then she realized that the five people she didn't know were staring at her with confusion. _Oh right_, she thought as she took a step forwards. _I'm not supposed to be loose._ "You might want to get a better guard," she said then. "Michael's kind of a dumbass."

It was when Logan started laughing then, that she felt her nerves wash away. He was here, he was what looked to be _safe_, and he'd said he had lied to her when he'd sent her away. He hadn't meant it when he'd said she wasn't his family.

That thought was probably what had her screaming out his name as one of the men next to him abruptly hit Logan over the back of the head, sending his body into sprawl across the ground. Violet lunged forwards, closing the gap quickly. One short, squat man tried to stop her but she easily dodged him, dropping down to the ground to grab Logan and pull his head into her lap. It was bleeding a bit (How could someone's fist even _do_ that? Violet glanced up at the men standing above them wearily, but neither of them were even looking down, just glancing into space absently like a pair of sociopaths.) and Logan groaned when she touched the wound, blinking up at her with milky eyes.

"I thought you'd hate me," he said, reaching out to touch her face.

She leaned into his hand, closed her eyes and reveled in the touch she hadn't let herself miss. "I'm still mad at you," she said, because she was. He'd hurt her, even if he had been lying. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you alone in this."

"How touching," said a voice in front of them then.

Both Violet and Logan glanced up at the same time. There stood a woman no taller than Violet, all shiny curls and peach lips and red eyes. Violet blinked at her, felt the divinity rolling off in waves. It was a different sort of power than the kind she'd felt with the Olympians though this made her sick to her stomach, made Persephone's essence curl and hiss and stab at Violet's chest.

"Hello, little Persephone," said the woman as she met Violet's weary gaze. "I suppose you don't remember me your precious mommy and almighty daddy never did let you around me much. I am Nemesis."

"I know who you are," Violet said, bared her teeth even if she was sprawled helplessly on the floor as Logan shook himself loose of the stupor the blow to his head had caused. "I'm not afraid of you."

Nemesis let off a small laugh then, inspected her nails carelessly. "I would so hope not," she said, and before Violet could blink there was a swipe, a stinging on the side of her face. Soft trickles of blood rolled down her cheek, taste of crimson at the corner of her mouth. Nemesis smiled, grabbed Violet's arm and hauled her to a standing position, making Logan's body smack against the ground limply even as he cursed at the woman, spewing threats over what she'd just done to Violet. "You see dear heart, I have such high hopes of us being friends."

Violet stood stunned for a moment, before abruptly breaking free of the woman's grasp. "You're insane!" she said.

"I second the comment," Logan said from the ground where he was bracing himself on his palms, getting ready to try and stand. The man that had knocked him in the head before stomped his foot into Logan's back then in a swirl of long limbs and trench coat. Logan flopped back to the ground with a groan. Violet moved to pry the man off of Logan in sudden panic but was restrained by another man strong as an ox.

"Pallas, Cratos," said Nemesis. "Come now. These two are our guests; we mustn't be so brutal!" She clapped her hands, enough to make the man practically standing on Logan back off; the one holding Violet in a death grip did the same. "Why don't you two go check on dear Ares? Dionysus, Anteris and I can handle this."

Pallas and Cratos nodded at the order, left Violet and Logan's sides to march like a trained pair of soldiers across the room to the door Violet had come through. She watched them wearily, knowing Michael wasn't going to be pleased when they got him out of the room Violet had locked him into. With how unpredictable the guy's temperament was, Violet could only imagine how much worse he'd do to her than the few scratches Nemesis had admonished her with.

Once the men were a good distance from her, she crouched to grab hold of Logan's shoulders, help him up to his feet. He steadied an arm around her shoulders, met her worried gaze and nodded that he was alright, even though this time it had been his face that had smashed the concrete instead of the back of his hands the rough surface had scraped his lip and forehead, blood trickling from the wounds in thin lines like Violet's own cuts.

He reached up to touch them as if reading her thoughts. She didn't flinch, even though Logan did as his hand pulled away red under the moonlight. "I'm going to kill you for this," he said then, turning his attentions to the other three Gods remaining in the room.

"Oh Hades," Nemesis said with a roll of her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen."

"Yes, come now Uncle," said the short, squat man to Nemesis' right. "It is just a surface wound. It won't scar my sister's skin."

"Sister?" Violet asked, glancing at the man with building suspicion. It was obvious that he was a God, but which one exactly? Persephone had had a lot of siblings, and apparently a fair share of them were traitors.

The short man smiled, sticking out a hand in greeting. "It is I, Sister, Dionysus."

Violet ignored his attempt at pleasantries. "The lunatic of the family," she said irrately. "How couldn't I tell?"

Instead of taking her insult at point, Dionysus simply laughed. "As fiery as ever, I see," he said. "It so reminds me of why Uncle claimed you as his bride. Tell me, is there another wedding in the future?"

"Shut up, Dionysus," Logan said, tightening his arm around Violet, though no longer in support but protection. "Don't think I'm not still going to ring your stupid little neck."

"Oh, but come Uncle, we brought you here as we wish to be allies!" Dionysus said. Violet blinked at the words, pressed tighter into Logan's side. "You can't really tell me you wish to help your siblings, after all the abuse they've put you through? All of that precious power of theirs went straight to their heads. They're just as much the monsters as they claim us and our grandparents to be. Do not tell me you see that as fit to rule over all of creation?"

Logan did not answer him. Violet glanced up to see a hard edge in his dark eyes she could not decipher. "Logan," she whispered, but he didn't so much as look at her.

"I mean really, do you _truly_ think they will make good rulers once again, Uncle? All this nonsense that John has you believing about the Olympians taking back their thrones? Really, how does that even make sense? He's so busy trying to scramble for help from the rest of the Gods because he has no power and needs the help! He is a greedy man, Uncle, and you know it. No longer is he fit to rule us, or the mortals for that matter. He needs to be stopped."

"And you think the _Titans_ can help with that?" Violet asked, not being able to keep her mouth shut.

"Of course they can," said Nemesis. She was inspecting at her nails again, making Violet bristle and expect a new blow. The scratches on her face stung at the thought. "Dionysus didn't say anything about _us_ not taking back Olympus."

"Then why ally with us if you have the Titans?" Logan murmured, pulling Violet even closer as Cratos and Pallas appeared at the other side of the room again, dragging a battered Michael with them. His nose was still bleeding, Violet noticed. Rivers and rivers of blood. She almost wanted to smile sassily, but the dark gaze Michaels scowl her had her body freezing up in terror. He looked like he wanted to kill her, and she wouldn't put it past him.

"Because we need help getting into the Underworld, of course," said Nemesis in answer to Logan's question. "And after, we need someone to rule over it once more. It is a big responsibility, Hades. You know how things work better than anyone. The Chthonic must rule once more Zeus was for once in his existence being intelligent when he fixed the lots so you were to rule the Realm of the Dead."

"That doesn't stop releasing the Titans from being a fucking ridiculous idea," Logan snarled. By now Pallas, Cratos and Michael had reached the small huddle and Logan's grip on Violet had become crushing. She could feel him shaking, though with nerve or anger she couldn't decipher. "And don't think for a second I will let you idiots go unpunished for even _trying_ to hurt Violet and her brother. If you think, for one _fucking_ second I'd ally with people as crazy as you, you're stupider than I thought."

There was a pregnant pause in the room, a sigh from Dionysus and snort from Anteris who Violet had barely noticed this whole time he looked very bored with the conversation. Her gaze lingered on him, only breaking when Nemesis tarnished the silence in the room with a high-pitched cackle.

"Oh, and here I thought you'd see reason," she said.

"And here I thought you'd fuck off," Logan mimicked.

Nemesis laughed again then, tilted her head and squinted, reached out to flick her hands over the wounds on Logan's face. Violet resisted the urge to reach out and strike the woman for touching him. When Nemesis pulled away it was with a small coat of blood on her fingertips, which she readily brought to her mouth and sucked.

Violet and Logan stared at the woman as if she were half mad, but she and her associates remained completely calm. And after a moment she took her fingers out of her mouth, licked her lips, smiled. "So much fire in your blood," she said. "So much _defiance_." She sighed, took a step back and motioned forwards Cratos and Pallas, who came at Violet and Logan menacingly. "I can see we're going to have to do this the hard way," Nemesis said. "No matter. It isn't just your alliance I want so much as your blood."

Her eyes flashed copper in the moonlight, and Violet had just enough time to make out the madness in them before Pallas was grabbing hold of her and pulling her away from Logan. She screamed, tried to flail as Logan gave a sound of fight, grabbed for her even as Cratos, and soon Michael, held him back.

"Don't touch her!" Logan roared, striking out at every inch of the others he could reach. His eyes remained desperately on Violet and she fought against Pallas just as much to reach for Logan right back. "Don't you fucking touch her or I swear on the Styx I will rip your heads off with my bare hands!"

"Come now, Uncle," Dionysus tried to reason. He looked not only disappointed, but nervous. It had the fright racing through Violet's veins doubling. "You and Violet must cooperate if not for yourself then for young Daniel Porter, yes?"

And while Violet had been struggling visibly in Pallas' grip before, clawing and biting and nicking his skin, the moment Danny's name left Dionysus' lips she fell limp, casting a helpless glance to Logan. The man continued to fight for just a moment before he too stopped, searching Violet's eyes with a desperate plea.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, Logan."

"It's okay," he said, and she could see the honesty in his gaze, the fear.

"Well of course it is," Dionysus said, tapping at his chin with a steady fingertip. It seemed he was the leader of the show now Nemesis had disappeared with Anteris during the struggle. Violet could hear shuffling from the other side of the room, a sudden squeak as a cart began rolling. "Violet does love her brother, and since you love her, Logan, you'll do anything to make her happy. Including give us what we need."

Logan sneered at Dionysus, but didn't deny the statement. Violet hung her head in shame, Nemesis coming to stand before them with a cart dressed as an altar. She held up a long knife, gazed at it bloodlustedly in the moonlight before looking up at Violet and Logan with a smirk.

"So you're going to let the whole world burn for your brother, I see," she said, came to stand before Violet, tip her chin up so Violet had no choice but to meet the crazed woman's eye. "Good decision, dear heart. You see, one way or another we'd have your blood, but this way, Daniel's gets to stay where it belongs, hmm?"

And with that, she grabbed Violet's arm and dug the knife deep into flesh, a spray of blood and a scream ripping loose from Violet's lungs.


	47. The Flare of Light

**A/N:** Okay guys, I fibbed. _This_ is the second to last chapter. I ended up having to split the last chapter into two parts otherwise it would be too long. Tell me what you think?

* * *

Thaddeus sat pensively in his desk sipping at a bottle of Heineken, staring at the phone waiting for word from Logan or Aster or Laurence or _anyone_. Because if there was one thing that Thaddeus hated, it was being left out of the loop. Death knew all, saw all. Living the life of a mortal made things unnecessarily complicated, and Thaddeus was about tired of it.

Hands flexing, he set his beer down and went to pick up the phone just as it rang. _Please fucking let it be Logan,_ he thought, frowning when he pressed the receiver to his ear and heard Laurence on the other end instead. "What is it?" Thaddeus asked, tapping his fingers against the desktop anxiously. Laurence was a friend of the Porters' centaurian guards that they'd sent to look after Danny for the evening while otherwise occupied with the Violet being kidnapped by evil Titan loving bastards situation, and Thaddeus had quickly learned he didn't like guards' friend a whole lot. Something about the guy's voice grated on Thaddeus' nerves probably the lisp, he figured. Or the Jersey accent. Fucking Jersey accents, he'd like to kill himself over them. An ironic thing for Death, all things considered.

"Just thought ya should know there's a body ya guys gotta take care of," Laurence said, smacking his lips after a moment. "I think I just killed a Demigod and I dun know what ya want me to do with the corpse?"

"Bury it," Thaddeus said, the solution obvious. "Were there any others with him?"

"They ran off when I killed their buddy-boy over here. The Porter kid and his friends left the party a while ago. He's passed out of some Martin kid's couch, and the Demis tried to break in and grab the kid. I don't think things are goin' too great for your boss, Thaddeus," Laurence said, the sound of scuffling and dragged deadweight.

Thaddeus didn't reply for a moment, Laurence's comment having left a certain dread in his stomach Thaddeus did not care for in the least. If anything it served to make him dislike the man even more than he already did. "Just make sure the body's hidden for now, for fuck's sake. I'll come and help you bury it once everything's checked out with Logan and Violet… Make fucking sure no one goes after Danny again."

Laurence grunted, the sound of deadweight being dropped. "Easy for you ta say, asswipe. This guy weighs about as much as a fuckin' elephant! What do they feed you Gods in that ambrosia shit lead?!"

Thaddeus rolled his eyes with a heavy scowl, not having time for the other man's antics. "Listen, fuckhead, while I just so _love_ hearing your winning humor, I need to keep this line open in case Logan calls and needs help, understand? Even if I sent your two buddies after him, they're not allowed to interfere without consent as per threat of Logan tearing my damned balls off if they do. But if he _does_ end up needing help, Logan's going to call the house see where I'm going with this?" He didn't wait for a reply on Laurence's part, continuing on. "So now that you've alerted me to Danny's safety, I'm going to go. Only call the house again if it is an emergency. I will call _you_ once everything is over so we can make plans to bury the fucking body, got it?"

"Sure thing, _Tha_d-d_e_-_us_," Laurence drawled. "You know, I expect some decent compensation for this."

"Oh you'll be compensated alright," Thaddeus snorted before hanging up the phone dramatically, leaning back in his chair and running his hands down his face.

He'd been an idiot when he'd agreed to letting Logan do this on his own, but the man had been adamant about not wanting to fuck around with Dionysus in charge of the whole kidnapping Violet thing. "He'll kill her, Thaddeus," Logan had said, and even over the phone Thaddeus had known Logan had been panicked, sounding like a broken and desperate man. The love he felt for Violet had hit him hard, just as Thaddeus had expected it would after he'd seen them making out that day in the kitchen, when Violet had first remembered who'd she'd been. The bond between the two had been palpable even to a man as dense as Thaddeus himself. "He'll kill her," Logan had said, followed by a determined, "And I swear on the Styx I will do whatever that lunatic says to keep Violet from getting hurt, let alone…_dead_."

And so of course Thaddeus had agreed to the bull-headed idea of Logan charging in alone like some knight on a white horse, thought about it for the whole of thirty minutes before calling up that Aster guard guy who'd called the house earlier and letting him know to tail Logan, just in case. "You stay away from where he goes once he gets there, though," Thaddeus had said. "I know your partner lost track of them, but Logan won't. He knows just where he's going, and you can't follow him all the way in. Park on the road. Watch for anything too awful. _Don't go in without my permission._" And that had been the end of it, because Logan hadn't told Thaddeus the address, and he wouldn't even be able to make it there in time if the whole thing went downhill even though he felt it was his responsibility to look after Logan's stupid ass, and Violet's too.

So the only thing he could do was wait. It made him wish he was a praying man, at least to feel like there was _some_ way he could help. Logan and Violet were on their own, and he'd feel partial responsibility for their death. And, yeah, he'd feel a pretty good amount of grief too. Logan was a good man, and Violet was a sweet girl. They'd been kind to him even in the beginning of things. While the rest of the Gods had shunned Death, Hades and Persephone had embraced him.

And now all he was doing to repay them was watching over Logan's stupid house with two crazy broads and two crazy kids trapped inside. Hecate had gone back to normal a little bit, but only just. Myrtle was as screw-loose as ever. Wyatt was brooding over the new dilemma like the love-sick puppy he was. And Chad Jesus fucking Christ, Thaddeus never knew what the fuck was up with that guy. One minute he was sweet as syrup, the next he was cussing Thaddeus out and throwing plates at his head.

"Fucking drama queen," Thaddeus muttered with a reluctantly fond shake of his head. He reached forwards and grabbed his beer off the desk, brought the bottle to his lips about to take a sip when suddenly there was a ripping scream echoing through the house.

The bottle fell to the floor with a _clash_, glass shattering into millions of shards as Thaddeus stood and raced to the door of his office, looking out into the hallway as another scream rang through the empty corridors.

Adrenaline alert, he dashed towards the basement door, yanked it open despite the locks and clambered down the stairs. He could hear commotion above him as the rest of the house raced to the source of the sound, but Hecate's screams were drowning them out the closer he got to her.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness at the bottom of the steps, hands pulling back thick curtains, he found the woman crumpled on the floor by a stone altar, wailing. "Help her! Help her!" Hecate yelled, even as Thaddeus went to grab at the woman and lift her from the floor. Her eyes were that funky golden color they'd sometimes been since she'd gotten back from Storm's house, gaze wild and not in the room with them. "Help her!" she said again.

There was clambering on the steps, a frightened Chad and Wyatt coming into the room in one tussle. "What's wrong?" Wyatt was the first to ask, Chad staring on in mute horror.

"I don't fucking know!" Thaddeus said. "Help me get her up!"

Because by this point, Hecate was resisting. She kicked and flailed, screaming over and over to "_Help her help her help her_!"

"Help who?" Chad asked, holding the woman's feet as she went into straight out convultions. "Who do we help?"

"My mother." Three sets of eyes turned to stare at the aging frame standing at the bottom of the steps, gray hair swaying around Myrtle's face. "She's trying to tell you to help my mother," repeated the old woman.

"Why?" Thaddeus asked, narrowly dodging a panicked swipe from Hecate's claws. Chad and Wyatt were trying to do the same while still giving their attention to Myrtle. "What's going on?"

Myrtle blinked, completely stoic as she said, "She's dying."

* * *

She laid there on the floor gasping, a cold like she'd never felt leaching into her bones.

In the distance she could hear Logan screaming her name, but it was lost to the sound of the din. She was just so _cold_ and the songs of the nymphs were so _pretty_ and she just wanted to close her eyes and listen…

"Come now, Lady Persephone! You cannot honestly say you have never wished to feel the touch of a man," said Cyane as she brushed Persephone's hair with gentle care.

"I _can_," Persephone said with a wrinkle of her nose. "Mother says men are deceiving things. Why would I want to know the touch of that?"

Cyane smiled. "Oh, my Lady, how little you do know."

The scene changed quickly, a swirl of flowers and onyx pillars and dark eyes, a smile meant only for her to see. "You wish to be my _friend_?"

"That is what I said, is it not?"

Persephone stifled a giggle with hand pressed to her mouth. She should hate him, she knew, but somehow she could not. And so she said, "I have never been friends with a male before. This should prove an adventure."

"You said you liked adventure," he whispered, one dangerous finger tracing the collar of her chiton.

She batted his hand away. "Not of that kind," she said with an archaic arch of her brow. "I do believe you are trying to seduce me, my Lord."

"I think that was the point of kidnapping you and bringing you here, was it not?"

"True," she said as she picked up a pomegranate and weighed it in her palm. "But you also did not count on me to have knowledge of the Underworld." She dropped the pomegranate to the floor and smashed it between her sandal, juice gushing like blood around the gold of her soles. "Did you?"

He frowned. "I did not."

"Then what a joyous adventure this shall be indeed." She grabbed his hand, pulled him along with her, laughing the whole way. "Let us explore, shall we? You did promise me a tour!"

They walked, only for the scene to switch again, a crippling darkness and a promise whispered like a prayer. "I will find you. I will. I will always find you, I swear it."

In a whirl of dust and light she was lying on her bed in the Fairgrave house, hair tucked up in a clip and eyes on the horizon. There was a knock at the door, a figure in the archway. "I hate how this room is growing on me," she said.

"Maybe it will make you want to stay," he said.

"I doubt that," she answered.

"Maybe _I_ will make you want to stay," he said.

She opened her mouth to answer him, but she knew if she said '_no_' like she needed to, it would be a lie. And she didn't want to lie to him. "Maybe," she said at last, and the smile he gave her broke her heart, a smile meant only for her.

* * *

"_Violet_! Wake up! Violet!"

"Logan," she whispered. "Close the window. I'm cold."

She had never been this cold in her life before, never been this numb. It felt like her entire body was light as a feather, floating somewhere between dream and reality. Was this what it was like to be immortal? Suspended on ice and emptiness for eternity? She didn't like the thought she didn't like this feeling. She wanted it to stop.

"Violet, please, love, wake up."

There was a warmth on her cheek then, slippery wet and tasting of salt at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, Sleeping Beauty awake from a tear instead of a kiss. "Logan," she murmured, raising a weak hand up to touch her face. "You're crying."

He sobbed unabashedly she'd never seen him cry before tears mixing with stains of red. She saw the wound then, a narrow slit down her forearm. "It isn't so bad," she tried to reassure him. "I've had worse…" It was then she felt the heaviness at her left side, glanced hazy-eyed to the lake of blood around her. Michael was there, trying to apply pressure to the wound and keep it closed. "What are you…?" Violet tried, but broke off with her words when she saw the panic in Michael's eyes, gold instead of red even from the blood of his broken nose marring his face. "You look like shit," she said, and Michael cracked a smile at that, a broken laugh.

Logan cried some more.

"What happened?" Violet whispered, trying to look around her. They were still in the warehouse, still in the room they'd been in when when Nemesis had…had _cut_ her. Violet remembered now, the kiss of the knife and the sudden and overwhelming pain. She'd never even cut herself that deep before and had had no choice but to scream, jerking away from Nemesis violently in a slash of blood.

"_Violet_!" Logan had cried, tried to lurch away from the hold on him but only Michael had let go in abstract horror, Cratos holding tight.

"Oopsie," Nemesis had said. "Should've accepted our offer."

"Nemesis," Dionysus had warned. "There's still we can't _this wasn't part of the plan_!"

"Your plan's no fun!" Nemesis had said, and then she'd stooped to Violet's level where she was trembling on the floor, trying to apply pressure to the new wound on her arm. She'd been losing blood _fast_ and she had to make it stop but Gods how fucking hard it was to make a vertical wound stop.

"Don't touch her!" Logan had been screaming. Pallas had left Violet's side to help Cratos with him, Logan struggling violently in their grip as Michael looked on in horror, of little help against Logan's thrashing. "Don't fucking touch her you bitch! Get away from her! Violet! _Violet_!"

"Oh, it's not so bad, you drama queen," Nemesis had said with a huff, turned to Violet and winked at her. "How _do_ you stand his dramatics?" She'd smiled, pushed up the sleeve of Violet's uninjured arm despite Violet's feeble attempts to keep the woman away and keep her own blood inside of her at the same time. Nemesis had just cackled at the wasted effort, ran her fingers up the ladder-rung cuts on Violet's skin. "Besides, look at _this_ boys! Violet here gets a kick out of cutting!" Nemesis held up Violet's uninjured arm, the scars there on display. "Don't you, dear heart?"

"Go to hell!" Violet had spit, kicking out at the woman weakly.

"Oh, but sweetie, that's _your_ domain." Nemesis had cut her other arm then, not as deep but enough that it hurt viciously and drew too much more blood. Dionysus had turned away then, not even glancing up when Michael had found the nerve to say, "You fucking promised she wouldn't get hurt, Dino!" and everyone had ignored him as Logan had screamed out Violet's name and earned himself a few good punches from Cratos and Pallas to keep him from getting loose from their grip.

"There, there," Nemesis had said as Violet whimpered from the pain, black-spots dotting her vision and her body began to go limp in shock. Tenderly, Nemesis had pushed sweaty, bloody tendrils of hair from Violet's face. "Anteros, be a dear and bring me a bowl, please? I don't think Violet can stand over the altar in a state like this. Hurry, before we run out of time. Midnight's about to chime!"

Violet's arm that had been bleeding the most had been draped over a bowl then, red splashing into the antique. "Bitch," Violet murmured as Nemesis had drawn away.

The woman had smiled with sharp teeth and feline eyes. "Just for that, I'm going to fuck your husband when all of this is over," she'd said, skipped away to a struggling Logan.

Violet had had just enough strength to try and pick herself off the floor, cried out in utter agony and prayed to a God she didn't even believe in as Nemesis had danced the knife over Logan's trembling throat. "Violet," Logan had said, eyes watching hers just as Nemesis had rolled up his sleeve and slashed his forearm too, only this time horizontal instead of vertical.

Violet had breathed a sigh of relief as his blood spilled into the bowl along with hers, because while the cut may have been deep, it would be easier to keep pressure on. "I'm sorry," she'd mouth to him then, and he'd shook his head even as she'd let her eyes close with the persistency of darkness on the edge of her vision. "I'm sorry."

"Violet! _Violet_!" he'd screamed, but it had been black and full of Nymphs and songs and sunlight.

Now there was pain again, there was pain and a sadness of acceptance. "Don't cry," she said to Logan, fingers trembling, body too weak to hold her arm up any longer. The limb slumped against her torso, barely an extension of herself any longer. "Logan," she said. "Please don't cry."

"How can't I?" he nearly shouted, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. "Violet, you can't leave me. Please don't leave me."

"I won't," Violet said. There was a flare of light in the background was that Heaven? and a warmth that chased away the cold in her bones, but only just as someone cackled. "Just going to rest my eyes another minute…"

"No, Violet, stay awake," it was Michael talking now, gripping tighter at her arm.

"That hurts," she said.

Michael nodded. "That means you're alive."

Logan buried his face into her neck at that, heat of tears and his whispered plea of, "Don't leave, Violet. Stay with me."

"But I'm not your family," she said then, remembering his words in bittersweet, cotton-candy dreams. "You have your family. You'll be okay without me."

"I lied!" Logan shouted helplessly, framing her face with his hands, blood slipping down his forearm in thrumming rivers of red. "I lied, Violet! Remember? I lied! You _are_ my family! You're the closest thing to family I've ever had! I love you, Violet. I love you! You can't die! Wake up!"

"I'm your family?" she asked, the sound of roaring in the background, a whirlwind in her ears.

Someone was screaming, "Michael, Michael! We have to go!"

But Violet could still hear Logan's whispered, "Yes," over the sound of madness in the background, a spell gone wrong.

The pressure on her arm was gone, free pain and no longer contained. "No!" Michael was shouting. "You fucking promised!"

"I know," said another voice. "I'm sorry. But we have to go. This whole place is coming down and she's a lost cause. Please, Uncle, come with us?"

"No!" Logan turned away from Violet's gaze, just a second. "I won't leave her!"

And then it was just the two of them, Logan looking down at her as suddenly the cold in her skin was met with heat, a heat so hot it burned. Still she asked, "You love me?"

And Logan smiled a desperate, hopeless smile. "Yes," he said, and she could feel his tears on her own cheeks. "I love you, and I want you to _live_."

_Well_, said a voice in the back of her mine, _how can you refuse a wish like that?_

She didn't know where it came from, the sudden sting of breathlessness in her chest, the _pull_ of magic and the draw of divinity. And one minute she was laying there dying in a puddle of her own blood, and then suddenly her wounds were closing, flutter and pinch and an agony that had her screaming and convulsing anew.

"Violet?" Logan asked, but he kneeled back astounded, watching her as flames danced on the ceiling beams around them. "Violet?"

The cuts didn't close all the way, but just enough. And she felt invigorated suddenly; she felt _alive_. Gasping, Violet jolted into a sitting position, glanced at her arms to see the cuts running still with blood, but simple trickles instead of the waterfalls they'd once been. She no longer felt in another realm was all of the blood somehow back inside her body?

"Violet?" Logan asked again.

She blinked at him, turned her gaze to the ceiling at the sound of beams creaking. "Logan, watch out!" she screamed, just as one of them fell. She dove for him, pulled him on top of her and they rolled away from the fire. "We have to get out of here!" she said.

Logan still looked a bit dazed, but a sharp slap and he was shaking his head, nodding. Violet could feel the smoke just as much as she could taste it then, consuming the air around them as it blanketed down from the ceiling. "Hurry!" she said, grabbing Logan's hand and crawling forwards.

"Fuck," Logan growled as his left arm threatened to collapse. It was still bleeding profusely, and she knew it had to hurt. They'd have to stand, then, if they wanted to make it.

"Can you handle the smoke?" she asked.

He nodded. "Fire's still my element."

"I thought the dead were," she said as they stood, wrapped in each other's arm.

Another beam creaked overhead, the sound of windows shattering as the fire welled and threatened to explode. "Let's not stay and find out!" Logan said, holding her close as they stumbled towards the exit door at the other end of the room.

They crashed onto a grated walkway, stumbling and coughing as smoke tried to drown their lungs. "Just a bit further," Logan said as Violet's knees threatened to buckle. "Come on, love, almost there."

Violet glanced behind them just once to see flames licking out of the doorway, taunting and dancing close. "Logan _faster_!"

They made it to the door at the end of the hall in time for Logan to kick it in, rush them to the outside just as the ceiling to the hallway began to collapse in on itself. Still they had to struggle away from the building which was bursting at its seems, pieces exploding everywhere.

They reached a few yards before the side of the factory closest to them blew, sending the two splayed to the ground, Logan's body atop Violet's protectively. Heat coursed through her, thrumming of blood as debris flew this way and that.

"Keep your head down!" Logan shouted as another wave of flame and glass and brick and shrapnel hit them. "Keep your eyes closed!"

Violet squeezed her eyes shut tight, grabbed Logan's hand where it rested next to hers and interlocked their fingers together. "I love you," she said then, didn't care if they died in that moment as long as he heard her. "Logan, I love you too!"

And above the flames and rubble, he gripped her hand tighter, held her closer and said, "I won't let go of you," and the world went dark.


	48. The Promise of Spring

**A/N**: Oh my god, you guys. This is it, this is the last chapter. I'm actually kind of crying as I update this, because I can scarcely believe it. I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story since the beginning. I can't even begin to express my gratitude, and I've made so many wonderful friends out of all of you guys. So thank you, and I truly hope you like the ending.

I also just wanted to take a moment to say that yes, this story will be set as complete, but in the downtime between the end of _Bone and Skin_ and the start of the sequel, _Blood and Nerve_, I am probably going to add some outtakes or rather "deleted scenes" to this story, if you all would like? Just a bunch of sillyness and candid one-shots that take place during the novel's time slot. Let me know what you think?

Thank you all so much again. And now I proudly present, the conclusion to _Bone and Skin_~~~

* * *

The world was made of fairy dust.

He opened his eyes to raining ash and hellfire, wink of the moon on the horizon. There was something warm next to him, something giving soft breaths against his chest. The presence was solid, a certain sort of wonder that had his veins thrumming with life and longing.

Blinking, Logan tried to focus his vision in, but everything was tunneling. Smoke still rang heavy in the air, choking his lungs for oxygen. His skin felt burned, nothing but charred remains.

"Violet?" he whispered, voice thicker than molasses.

A soft moan met him; she rolled onto her back, misty green eyes in the dark. "We're alive," she whispered.

And the weight of her words settled on him then, made his pulse beat triple-time. He slowly sat up, near-broken limbs, and marveled at the rubble and still burning fire around them. Because here they were _alive_ and they were _okay_ and what she'd done back in there had been unimaginable a miracle.

"We're alive?" he croaked back in reply, just in case he was dreaming. She'd haunted his sleep so much since the day he met her, the day she went away, he had to make sure this reality wasn't false. She sat up too then, her small nod confirming this was real, she was here in his arms and breathing and smiling at him like the light of spring. "We're alive!" he laughed, crushed her to his chest and thought he may never let her go.

She gave a dazzling sound of surprise, a soft sob as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back just as closely. "I love you," he said then, because he hadn't said it enough back in that warehouse, back when she'd been _dying_. "Violet, I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered, looking up at him through tears. "Don't ever tell me to leave again."

He reached up to cup her face, warm and soot-covered skin. "Never," he vowed as she leaned into his touch. "I was an idiot for letting you go. I won't make the same stupid mistake again, I promise."

"Then kiss me," she said. "Don't make me ask twice."

And she smiled, and he did.

She tasted like sunlight and meadow grass and life, and even though his lungs burned, even though everything smelled like fire and ash, he kissed her for all he was worth. There was debris in her hair when he tangled his fingers in it, little splinters of wood and brick. The ends were burnt, crippled away in his palms. Where her nails dug into his neck it burned, and when he went to pull her closer with his left arm, there was a sudden shot of pain.

Grunting, he tried not to let her move away but she did, glancing at him with curious eyes. She mapped the blood, the aching sting where Nemesis had cut him nearly to the bone. With a tilt of her head, Violet reached out. He was about to protest if she touched the wound he'd probably starting crying like a fucking pansy again with how much it was sure to hurt but then there was a glow, like the one he'd witnessed on her back in the warehouse.

Looking up at him then, her eyes held a question. He nodded, grit his teeth against the sudden _agony_ when she touched the wound, a warmth and flare hotter than the factory blowing to bits had ever been. And then it was cold relief, it was renewal and life and he was gasping for breath, bits of rainbow-prism glass still raining down around them along with snow flurries.

Violet gave a sound of exhaustion, suddenly slumped against him. "Oh," she said, and, "Holy shit," he said when he looked down at the cut to find nothing but a thin line with a simple trickle of blood. "What the hell _was_ that?"

"I don't know," she whispered, took a deep breath and coughed from the smoke of the fire. Faintly in the background he could hear the farther reaches of the warehouse collapsing in on itself if only Nemesis and her little friends had been stuck in that rubble. But instead they were freely roaming, map to the Key of Tartatus in their hands. _Fucking great, _he thought, but was more concerned with the way Violet was panting and how her eyes looked glassy. "I don't even remember Persephone being able to do that," she said then. "I'm a Goddess of new life by way of spring, sure. But that's _plants_, not _people_!"

He stared at her another moment, tucked a burnt strand of hair behind her ear before settling his hand over her heart, willing the life back into her. A _push_, a _pull_, a _light_ and she was breathing normally, sparks in his fingertips. "We'll figure it out later," he said a bit breathlessly, divinity battering against aching muscles. "For now, I'm satisfied that we're both alive to see my thirty-second birthday."

"What do you mean?" she asked then, moonlight illuminating a cut on her cheek.

Smiling, he wiped the blood away, something divine to his senses. "It's my birthday," he said. "November first. And this year I think I actually want to celebrate it."

She gave him a grand sort of laugh then, threw her arms around his neck. "I love you," she said, and he hoped she'd say it to him the rest of his life, as long as he lived.

"I love you, too," he promised. "You're my family, Violet, never forget that. Even if I was an asshole and tried to make you believe otherwise…"

She kissed him then, grinned against his mouth when he gave a sound of surprise. "You are an idiot sometimes," she said. "But you're _my_ idiot."

"I couldn't ask for anything more," and he kissed her again.

They were so lost in each other at that moment that they didn't hear the shouting, the running footsteps and bark of a dog until three dark figures were nearly at their sides. "Your highnesses!" said the guard Logan had run into on Violet's front stoop, the one that had said his name was Aster after Logan had made that damning phone call. "Are you alright? We thought you were _dead_!"

"We're alright, Aster," said Violet then, trying to pull away from Logan's embrace but he wouldn't let her. She rolled her eyes at him, said, "Well, can we at least _stand_?" and he held her hand through the entire motion.

A part of him was afraid to let her go, even if she was still at his side. He feared that losing contact meant he would wake from a dream. The last few weeks had been nothing but nightmares, this night the tip off the goddamned bow of sanity. If he were to wake up, find out that Violet wasn't safe, that she really was _dead_, he didn't know what he would do.

Demand a fucking refund, more than likely.

It was then Marea appeared from between the two guards, jumped all over Violet as if she'd thought her owner lost. _Me too for a moment there, girl,_ Logan thought shakily. _But she's a living miracle_ and he could still feel the sparks on his arm where his wound had been.

"Good dog, good dog," Violet laughed, lost contact with Logan to stroke the dog behind her ears.

There was a moment of panic for him then, but the illusion didn't fade. Smoke still hung in the air, heat from the fire despite new snow mixed with ash in the air. He breathed a sigh of relief, ran a hand down his face. Violet glanced up at him, a reassuring light as she reached for his hand again. Aster and his friend, Tobias, were face to face with them by now, looking both amazed and worried.

"What about Danny?" Violet asked them, the hand inside of Logan's tensing as she seemed to remember the threatened safety of her younger brother with sudden clarity. "Is he okay?"  
"Safe and sound," assured Tobias. "We had a friend watch after him, and he's sleeping like a baby at his friend's house right now. It's all good, my Lady."

"Call me Violet," she said, leaning closer into Logan's side. He wrapped his arm around her, reveled in her warmth and her life and her light. "That title is for Persephone, and I'm not her, I'm just…_me_."

Tobias nodded, and Aster turned to Logan to give him a wink he didn't quite understand. Didn't matter, he was suddenly too lost in thought to let it process anyways. "Why are you here?" he asked suspiciously. "I told you not to follow me."

The centaurs shared a look between one another before nodding. "Thaddeus," the said at the same time.

"He was worried about your safety," added Tobias.

"And so he told us to follow you and wait back on the road in case anything too serious happened. Like a factory blowing up," shrugged Aster, glancing behind at the rubble and blow of flames. "The dog wouldn't take no for an answer on coming with us and jumped in the car."

"You're easier to tail than that last guy," Tobias said.

Logan sighed at that, should have known better than to think Thaddeus would really follow orders and let him come here completely alone. It was a wonder the old man hadn't come after Logan himself. He was as rebellious as a mortal as he'd been as a God, but somehow Logan wasn't mad at him for sending in backup. Thaddeus had just been looking out for him and Violet, as Death had always done for his friends.

"Did you see anyone else?" Logan asked then, felt Violet shift and shiver under his grip. She wasn't wearing a coat, and he realized with abrupt remembrance, any shoes. He could see burns on the peek of her soles, but she seemed oblivious to them. How many injuries had either of them sustained that the adrenaline had numbed? He could wait an eternity for his blood to boil down and find out.

"No," said Tobias then, a shake of the head. "They must have bypassed the road and headed into the woods. How many were there?"

"Six," Logan answered with a scowl. "They're probably long gone, though. They got what they wanted."

"Which was?" Tobias asked.

Logan sighed, rubbed at Violet's chilling arms to keep the heat in her body. They hadn't made it out of certain-death just for him to lose her to hypothermia. She glanced up at him then, expression grim. He tried to settle the lines between her eyes with a kiss, ignored the uncomfortable throat-clearing from Aster and Tobias, the grumble from Marea. All he cared about was Violet's small smile at his gesture of reassurance, the barely split skin under his palms that had once been pouring rivers of blood but no longer felt sticky-red now.

She was a miracle, a Gods damned miracle, and she was safe.

"Nothing good," Logan answered Tobias then, glanced at the moon and the rubble around them, knew that somewhere, the Titans were laughing, rattling their chains waiting to be set free. "But we're not going to let them go without a fight."

* * *

The drive back to Logan's house was nearly silent.

Violet stared at her hands plaintively. What in Gods' name had _happened_ back there? She'd been _dying_ and then suddenly she just…hadn't. The whole mess had no explanation, no rational. Her hands had glowed when she'd fixed Logan, but that had been the only real tell of what was happening. _Magic_, she thought listlessly. _Go figure, huh?_

"What are you thinking?" Logan's voice shocked her, had her turning from where she'd been petting Marea's head absently. The dog had insisted on coming with them, wouldn't go with Aster and Tobias back to Violet's house to make sure everything checked out there.

"Nothing," Violet sighed, leaned her head back against the seat and gave a small smile as Logan grabbed her hand. In all this cold of the approaching winter, Logan was like her own personal thermostat. It was just another little thing she loved about him.

_Loved._

Gods how she loved him. _Loved _him. The realization still made her feel giddy inside, and even if it had been one spurred by almost dying, she knew it was true. She loved him, and he loved her, too.

A small laugh escaped her then, had her hiding her face into her ash-soaked shoulder when Logan looked at her peculiarly. "I'm just happy," she said, and was shocked by how much she really meant it. "I mean, I know the bad guys kind of won this time, but you're alive, Danny's alive, _I'm_ alive, even if I probably shouldn't be…"

"You should," Logan stated firmly, gaze holding hers. What she saw there was warm and loving and it grew a feeling inside of her like budding flowers she never wanted to let die. "What you did was amazing, Violet. And it happened for a reason."

"Well," she said, marveling at a should-be life threatening wound reduced to scratches and giving him a timid shrug. "It's not super strength, but I guess it is useful."

He chuckled at her, dark eyes and honey voice.

She smiled back. "I'm just glad you're okay. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder and that you got hurt and that Nemesis and the others have a way to find the Key now… I just when they said they'd hurt Danny, I couldn't fight them. Even though I knew they could hurt you too, I gave in, and I'm sorry Logan. I shouldn't have but I"

"Hey, hey," Logan interrupted her, squeezing her hand tighter. "I understand, Violet. You did the right thing. That's your brother, and I'd never expect you to have to choose me over him. I really don't."

"But you're my family too," she said, plaintive guilt. "I wish that everyone would just stop using the people I love against me. I'd rather just get cut up and nearly burned to death myself."

"I wouldn't," Logan said, ignored the road in front of him to lean over and kiss her. "I'd miss you too much."

She laughed, shoved him off. "Okay, okay. I survived severe blood-loss and an exploding building tonight, mister. I'd really rather not die by vehicle collision."

He rolled his eyes at her then, moved his gaze back to the road and said, "You really don't trust my driving, do you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all."

"Well then you'll hate this," he said. The sudden smirk lifting the corners of his mouth had her about ready to protest, but he was already shifting gear, the car lurching forwards with a growl. They were on the highway, other cars on all sides, but he drove around them expertly, even as the speedometer inched closer and closer to the hundred-and-twenty mark.

"You're insane!" she screamed, yet felt a slight sense of excitement in her chest, a reckless abandon. They'd survived a showdown with some of the worst Gods in existence, pulled themselves out of a burning building and brought themselves back from death. Why shouldn't she just let go a little? And so she yelled, "Faster!"

And he laughed at her and she felt like she was flying.

They made it back to the house in record time, pulled up in the drive and glanced at each other with weary smile. "Evangeline's going to freak out," Violet said to him.

Logan shrugged. "A little ash never hurt anyone."

"But a little God of vengeance did."

"Hey," Logan argued, leaning over the console to kiss her passionately. Violet felt it in her toes, in her fingertips. Sparks and light and life. He could kiss her forever and she wouldn't care; let the whole world burn as long as they could keep this moment and never let go. So she frowned when he pulled away, gave a little sigh as he rested his forehead against hers. "We survived, didn't we?"

With a slip of smile she said, "Well, yeah." They both got out of the car, Marea following after her out of the passenger door. The moon hung low in the sky, a constant reminder of the creatures lurking on the horizon. But, for now, they were safe. "I guess we did."

They walked hand-in-hand to the front door, Logan reaching out for the handle when suddenly the structure was yanked open. A very anxious Thaddeus was standing on the other side, didn't wait a second before pulling them both in by the collar of Logan's coat.

"You look like shit!" he said to the both of them, quickly steered them through the entry hall and into the sitting room. "And we have company."

"What do you mean we have" Logan didn't get to finish the sentence.

Both he and Violet froze in the entranceway to the sitting room, staring at the scene around them. There was everyone of the usual, of course. Myrtle, sitting in her usual rocking chair and knitting Marea running over to the old woman with a wag of the tail and a small '_good rabbit_' from Myrtle in greeting. Wyatt, rushing towards Violet and crushing her in a bear hug and crying with relief until she told him she couldn't breathe and he set her down, gave Logan a weary glance before the man clapped the boy on the back and embraced him, told Wyatt he was a good kid with a smile. Evangeline was there too, sitting in a stupor on the sofa as she glanced to Violet and blinked. "It's a miracle," she said. "How how did you do it, little one?" And then there was Chad, who had a forming black eye with a bag of frozen peas pressed to it, giving greeting with a nervous air, his gaze on the other three, foreign figures in the room.

Violet was a bit dumbfounded by the latter herself, as was Logan. Who _were_ they? And yet Marea wasn't barking they weren't a threat.

The first figure was a short woman, plush and tan with curling black hair down her shoulders. She wore flannel and jeans and an old hunting jacket, mud on her boots. Next to her was a boy no older than Violet, infectious smile and golden aura dripping older than time. But the most shocking of all the guests was the woman standing next to the boy, tall and regal with air of authority and a confidence rivaling natural rule. She wore a flowing dress, her olive skin giving off a slight shimmer. Yet the oddest thing about her was the golden helm resting in the crook of her arm, the way her gray eyes seemed to understand you upon first look.

"Hello," said the woman then as she noticed Violet's gawking.

A blush spilled on to Violet's cheeks and she bowed her head, pressed closer to Logan's side while Thaddeus cleared his throat behind her, Chad crossed and un-crossed his legs, Wyatt shifted foot. Even Evangeline and Myrtle seemed alert at the sound of the woman's voice, brought to attention by the ancient loll of it. "Hello," Violet said back.

"I supposed you don't recognize us, then," said the woman.

Logan's arm tightened where it rested at Violet's waist. "What do you want, Athena?" he asked, skipping over the pleasantries.

All of Violet's senses flared at the mention of name. Athena, the almighty. Athena, Goddess of wisdom and warfare and intelligent insight. "Oh my god," Violet said without thinking.

Athena chuckled, an amiable rumble. "It's nice to see you again, Persephone."

"It's Violet," Violet mumbled, held her head high as it had been back at the factory when she'd said the same thing to Aster, before they'd all had to run at the threat of sirens and burning building. "I'm just Violet."

"I see," said Athena, took a step forwards and tilted her head as if to study Violet then, made her feel uneasy under the weight of the woman's intelligent gaze. "My, what a wonder you have become."

"What do you want, Athena?" Logan repeated, holding Violet close. "Surely you know that the others have a hold of the map by now."

"Hmm," Athena mused, kept her gaze on Violet one moment longer before turning it to Logan. Violet felt her body relax in relief. "But we know how to make a map of our own now too, yes?"

That left Logan speechless, gave opportunity for the boy at Athena's side to step forwards. "And you also have something they don't have."

"And what's that?" Thaddeus piped in.

The boy smiled. "Me."

"And you are?" asked Wyatt.

"Apollo," the boy said, flash of golden light and liar. "God of Prophecy. Who better to help than a psychic?"

"Got us there," murmured Thaddeus, his hands flexing to fists. "What do you think, boss?"

Logan shrugged, eyed Apollo with suspicion. "And who's that?" he asked, nodding to other woman in the room.

Athena smiled. "Why dear Metis, of course," she said.

Metis' eyes were darting all around, lingering on Evangeline in her again trance-like state before they landed on Violet and Logan in a moment of greeting with a bow of her head.

"She has agreed to side with me," Athena said.

"With _you_?" asked Logan. "What are you excluding in details here, Athena?"

"I thought it was obvious," Athena waved an elegant hand and stirred the air a shining gold around her with a laugh. "My father is not fit to rule, anymore, Uncle. No one is."

"So why are you fighting, then?" Logan asked, fingers gripping Violet's flesh protectively. "Why come to me?"

"For a good reason, Uncle," said Athena. "You see, neither Metis, Apollo nor I are fighting for our thrones back, and I don't think you or any of your associates are either, hmm?"

No one in the room answered her; the didn't have to. It was obvious what they were fighting for, and it wasn't power or a shiny crown.

"We came to you because we all seem to have a common interest," Athena explained. It was then Violet noticed the golden dagger on the woman's hip, the hoot of an owl out the window. But neither realization posed a threat, Violet knew, but an offering of safety, of freedom.

"Which is?" asked Logan then, eyes sharp on the Goddess before them.

Athena's lips quirked into an all-knowing smirk. "Putting Kronos down like the rabid dog he is."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, a new day come.

She looked up at him through curling lashes, shining green eyes and reflected light. "So what now?" she asked.

He settled down beside her, arms around her bare shoulders as they watched the sun rise and the morning glories bloom despite the cold of winter, reunited once more. She smelled like spring and he pressed his nose to the skin at the back of her neck, breathed her in. "Now, we enjoy each other's company."

"No plan-making, no battle plans, no magic?" she asked with a secret smile.

"No," he said, and she laughed as he tried to kiss her, messy and loving and bright. "I want something else for my birthday."

"And what's that?" she asked, hands pressed to his pulse, eye-to-eye.

"You," he said, soft chuckle and promise.

She smiled, leaned in to kiss him. "Well," she said, "happy birthday, then."

And for the moment, just that moment, it was only them. No war, no magic, no Gods, monsters or myths. Just Logan and Violet, bone and skin.

* * *

The End.

(For Now.)


End file.
